Wired and Ready
by Kupcakes
Summary: What if Matt and Mello had never been close friends at Wammy's House? In their early twenties, they discover the friendship that should-have-been, when Mello gets in trouble with the law and Matt finds out that he can help. But nothing is easy when you're orphan geniuses trying to make your way in the world, and perhaps their friendship can become something more. [Matt/Mello]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer for this story: I do not own Death Note. I do not own any of the characters from the manga or anime. This is all respectfully written for fun only, not for profit.**

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**Story Info**

**Title:** Wired and Ready

**Rating:** R (or M)

**Summary:** What if Matt and Mello had never been close friends at Wammy's House? In their early twenties, they discover the friendship that should-have-been, when Mello gets in trouble with the law and Matt finds out that he can help. But nothing is easy when you're orphan geniuses trying to make your way in the world, and perhaps their friendship can become something more. [Matt/Mello]

**Pairings:** Matt/Mello, Matt/OFC, Mello/OMC

**Warnings:** Drugs / Alcohol / Violence / Sex / Angst / Language

Lastly—a note. Fanfiction, for me, is freedom. I work on original fiction quite a lot, and fanfiction is my escape from having to research and fact-check and make sure everything is perfect. Also, I have never read the manga; I have only watched the anime. So please—if I have made a mistake, whether it be in regards to how something works (e.g. hacking) or something I got wrong with one of the characters, just let it go if you can. I am not an expert. After all, this is for fun. :)

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**Chapter One**

Matt lowered his orange goggles, letting them hang around his neck as he stared at the computer screen. Numbers and code flitted across the monitor directly in front of him. He glanced to the side, checking a feed on one of the many other monitors in his workspace, and his lips curled with satisfaction.

He'd done it again. He was in to Shovos Corp.'s system.

Now it was a simple matter to implement the virus. With practiced keystrokes, he transferred a number of files into the system with instructions to replicate itself in the local network. The virus would create a backdoor into the operating systems of each computer connected to the Shovos network, allowing Matt to monitor transactions and set up blocks for the ones he didn't want to go through. If he desired, he could bring the company to a standstill by stopping all communication and access. He could even delete nearly all of the company's data on a whim.

However, Matt knew that his boss, Lewis, wasn't planning on that, so he didn't write it in the code. Pity. There was something beautiful about destroying data with mere clicks of a mouse, creating such chaos with so little effort.

Finally he added the last bit of instructions: a trigger command for the virus to stop itself in seven days and three hours.

The plan was simple. For the first couple of days, Shovos would probably try to fix the problem on their own. They'd hire competent "white hat" hackers to figure out what was wrong and fix it. Of course they'd have no success. There was no getting through Matt's work. He was the best in the business.

They'd finally resort to contacting Hygeia, the group Matt worked for. Their services were ridiculously pricey, but they always came through, promising that their people could fix any computer-related problem in two weeks, guaranteed—for a pretty penny. In fact, this time it would only take seven days. They—namely, Matt—would "get rid of the virus" when it stopped functioning, just as planned. A miracle! And then, because Hygeia had saved the company and gotten Shovos out of a tight place, Matt would be compensated well. Very well.

It was rather funny, really. Matt did occasionally get assigned some jobs to break viruses that were not of his own making, but for the most part, Hygeia made their money by fixing the problems they created, with no one the wiser.

Yawning, Matt fished in his pocket for his cell phone and called Lewis, letting him know with a few words that the virus had been implemented. The call was short and to the point, and in no time Matt was left bathing in the glow of his computer screens as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Detachment settled over him once more. Creating that virus and breaking into Shovos's system had given him a momentary boost of energy, but again he felt drained and dead inside.

It had been like this for nearly three years.

At twenty-one years old, he knew he had it good. He was wealthier than he had any right to be, he was young, and he had no one holding him back from doing whatever he wanted. He'd been working, illegally, as a hacker since the age of thirteen. He had no parents or siblings to care about him. He was loaded with cash and absolutely free.

None of it mattered, though. Not when he didn't _care_.

Suddenly feeling a craving break through his emptiness, he found his lighter and lit up a cigarette, stepping out to the balcony to stare at the Chicago skyline and taking a long drag. He didn't even feel the buzz from these anymore, but it still gave him the feeling of satisfying a need.

He leaned on the railing and gazed out for a good twenty minutes, smoke puffing around him, as he the city lit up while the sky grew darker. He remembered, in a vague kind of way, the elation he'd first felt when he moved here, to this huge, expensive apartment building. He'd been newly eighteen, then, and finally able to live in an apartment that was actually under his name (well, his fake name). Gone were the years of old bosses finding him shady housing situations just so they could employ a teenage hacker without the government knowing.

It had been such an adventure at first, but now he sometimes regretted ever leaving Wam—

He was distracted from his thoughts as the soundbite of a chest opening from Zelda played in his pocket, along with a rhythmic buzzing. Mildly interested, as he hadn't been expecting anything, Matt grabbed his phone and opened the text message.

Lindsay: i want u 2nite

"Really?" muttered Matt under his breath. His voice was scratchy with disuse. He hadn't seen Lindsay in weeks, and the last time they'd talked she had screeched that she never wanted to see him again. Something about him being a callous, inattentive bastard.

His phone buzzed again.

Lindsay: i need a good fuck, matty, get over here

He considered his options. It wasn't like he was going to be doing anything else tonight, but for the past few months, dealing with other people in actual social interaction had grown increasingly exhausting. It was why Lindsay had broken up with him in the first place. Yeah, the sex had been great, but anytime they ever went on a proper date, he had been bored out of his mind. It had made Lindsay clingier than ever to get his attention, and as a result he only pushed her away more.

Still. He wanted to do something. He wanted to feel alive again, and he couldn't deny that she was hot. If a booty call was all she was asking for, then what could it hurt? He typed a quick message.

Matt: Just a fuck, no strings attached, right?

Lindsay: ya ofc u idiot, now get here now

Matt somehow doubted it would be that simple, but nevertheless he grabbed his car keys and laced up a pair of combat boots, resigned to the idea. Slipping a condom into his wallet, he grabbed a six pack of beer out of the fridge and took the elevator down to the parking garage.

Maybe, for once, he'd break through the fog and feel something again tonight. Maybe the clarity and the energy would last longer than a few sweaty minutes.

Maybe, but probably not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sneering, Mello eyed the woman. "Of course I'm fucking capable. Genius, remember?"

"So you claim," she said, raising a delicate eyebrow. "I admit, your counterfeiting operation has gone surprisingly smoothly... Nevertheless, identity theft is a whole different animal. And this time, you won't have James to show you the ropes."

"It's all the same. I'll learn it, just like I learn and _master_ everything else. Got it, Natasha?"

She continued to give him a skeptical, mocking smile, but replied, "Got it, Mello. I'll see you in a week, you know where."

Mello didn't even bother to say goodbye. Reining his temper in with effort, he swept out of the building onto a shady London street.

It was November now, one of the city's rainiest months. Sure enough, the sky was a drab gray and a light drizzle was steadily coming down. Sourly, Mello jogged to his motorcycle and put on his helmet, annoyed that he was going to have to deal with rain on his visor on the way home.

Despite the weather, however, he was actually quite pleased with how things were going. This wasn't the life he imagined he'd have after leaving Wammy's House, but it was the life he had, and he was... happy. Happier than he'd been in a long time, anyway.

Before long he arrived home. His and James's place didn't look like much from the outside—they had to lie low, seeing as most of their earnings weren't quite legal—but on the inside it was finely furnished. And their pantry was well-stocked with chocolate, which was Mello's main concern.

"What's the deal with that bitch, anyway?" said Mello by way of greeting as he hung up his coat. Irritably, he wrung some water from the ends of his shoulder-length blond hair so that it landed outside on the front step, closing the door once he was done.

"Hmm?" came a distracted murmur from the other room.

"Natasha," said Mello. "Does she always have that stuck-up, holier-than-thou attitude, or am I just a special case?"

He walked into the living room, where James was watching some inane show on the telly. A half-empty glass of red wine stood on the end-table beside him.

James had messy black hair that stuck up in all directions, aided by moderate amounts of hair gel. The first time Mello caught sight of him, he'd thought that somehow he'd run into L; the resemblance, at least from the back, was quite striking. However, he'd quickly realized that the man couldn't be his former mentor-slash-idol because the guy actually had some fashion sense. Not to mention a more muscular body—not that it was hard to be thicker than L's anorexic-looking frame.

"Eh," replied James, turning to look at Mello with his hazel eyes. "She gets like that sometimes."

"Annoying as hell, it is," muttered Mello.

"Did it go all right, though?"

"Yeah."

"What did she want?" asked James casually. His voice had a strange lilt to it, but Mello couldn't place it, so he brushed the feeling off.

"Said she wants to get us into identity theft. Apparently that's the way to go now, and even though nothing's gone wrong, it's—and I quote—not safe to run our counterfeiting operation for too long."

James's eyes narrowed. "We haven't gotten caught yet, and I don't plan to."

"That's what I told her," said Mello in frustration. "Still, she's the boss... I don't know why we don't just drop her and do what we want, without her damn input. We haven't even been counterfeiting that long. Definitely not long enough to justify stopping 'just to be safe.'"

"I've told you before, Mello. I worked with her for years. She's also got more connections than I could ever handle, and she's dead smart. She has the business sense to know what to get into, and when. Come on, trust her a little."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, she's so great, so smart. Why don't you just go fuck _her_, then?"

"Mello," said James flatly. "You know I don't swing that way. I'm one-hundred percent gay, thank you very much."

"Sometimes I wonder," said Mello, unable to resist grinning. "I saw you eying Gina's backside the other day, and you can't convince me otherwise."

"Only because her arse reminded me of yours, babe."

"A likely story."

"A true story," corrected James. "Now sit down with me and relax. I'm watching through the second season of Torchwood—it's almost done."

"I don't like TV," complained Mello, although he sat down next to his boyfriend after moving in for a quick kiss. "It's boring." They'd never watched TV at Wammy's House, and Mello had never really gotten what all the fuss was about it. Maybe it was the kind of thing people had to grow up watching to properly enjoy.

"C'mon, do it for me. With a minimum of snide comments, if you can at all manage to hold back. Here, have some wine," he added, pushing the glass into Mello's hand.

"Don't you think it's a little early to be drinking?"

"It's half-three on a Saturday. Do you have anything better to be doing?"

"I guess not," relented Mello, swishing the liquid and smelling its fruity aroma before taking a sip.

He wasn't too much of a drinker, but he did enjoy a good pinot noir. James knew him well.

"I hope you know that I'm expecting compensation after watching this shit for however many hours," Mello said warningly.

"Like what?"

"Like I want top, tonight."

James regarded him calculatedly. "Hm..." he said. "How about I order some imported chocolate instead?"

"Oh no, no," said Mello, laughing. "You are not trying to buy me off with chocolate. Not today."

"But it usually works so well," James grinned with a caught-out expression.

"Come on. It's been months since you've let me top, you selfish bastard."

"I got the impression you liked to bottom."

"You know I don't have a _problem_ bottoming. I enjoy it, of course," said Mello in exasperation. "But that doesn't mean I don't like to top, too."

"Fine," said James after a minute. Mello blinked in surprise.

"Wow, that was surprisingly easy," he commented. "You normally put up way more of a fight."

"Don't push your luck, Mels."

James returned to watching his show. Mello gave in and forced himself to follow the storyline for his boyfriend's sake. The two of them went through a bottle of wine in no time, and even though there was something that felt off about James tonight, Mello couldn't help but smile.

Things were good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Matt woke. The first thing he noticed was that his mouth felt like a fucking desert. Licking his lips with an exceptionally dry tongue, he tried to stimulate saliva back into his mouth. While he was busy with this pressing task, a pounding headache started to register in his mind.

"Oh God," he groaned, rolling over.

Blearily, he opened his eyes to register the shuttered light filtering through the blinds. Lindsay was still sleeping by his side, naked, her golden hair splayed across the bed. It looked exceptionally knotted and messy, and he knew why. They had been pretty wild last night, after all.

Feeling like shit, he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 7:43 am. What the hell was he doing up this early?

He forced his groggy mind to focus, climbing out of bed to stumble over to the toilet. After a piss, he considered trying to go back to sleep, only to decide that as terrible as he felt, he would probably not be able to sleep again. He was still somewhat drunk, if his slightly blurred vision was any indication, but not intoxicated enough to go back to bed so easily.

He really shouldn't have let himself do shots with Lindsay. The evening prior was a hazy memory, but he did recall that after quite a few beers she'd somehow convinced him that they needed to bring out the vodka. _Beer before liquor, never been sicker_, he thought to himself belatedly.

Still, he did remember with some clarity that the sex had been great. Even if Lindsay bored the hell out of him if they did anything other than fuck, she had a bangin' body and fantastic passion in the bedroom. Matt could almost convince himself, in the heat of the moment, that there was some kind of… zest back in his life. But then, of course, the apathy returned as soon as he came back down from the rush of pleasure.

Robotically, he put his clothes back on and then went through the motions of making coffee, helping himself to one of her mugs. He considered lighting a cigarette, but made himself wait, knowing from experience that Lindsay hated when he smoked in her house.

Finally, he stepped outside, mug in hand, to sit on the concrete stairs that led up to her place. It was a crisp morning. Nobody was outside. For all he knew, he could be in some episode of Twilight Zone right now. The stillness was eerie, but even though he recognized it, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Downing the last gulps of coffee, Matt blinked, trying to clear the persistent fog from his mind. He lit a cigarette and watched with dull eyes as smoke curled in the air with every exhale.

He could have been sitting out there for hours, for all he knew, when he heard the door open behind him at last. Lindsay stepped out, wearing a thin purple bathrobe.

"I thought you'd left," she said.

"Would it have mattered?"

"Of course," she said. "It's rude to just get up and leave after spending the night with someone."

Matt chuckled humorlessly. His laughs turned into coughs, and for a moment his eyes watered as he tried to get them under control.

Lindsay's nose wrinkled. "You should quit that. You're going to get lung cancer if you keep it up, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. The surgeon general tells me that every damn day."

Lindsay sighed. "Now come back inside, will you? It's cold out here. Seriously, it's fucking November. I'm just happy it's not snowing yet."

Matt finally looked her in the eyes. "Do you really want me to?"

"You have my mug," she said matter-of-factly. "You have to come back in to return it."

"Look," said Matt, stubbing out the cigarette on the concrete. "We're not starting this again. This was a quick hookup, nothing else."

"Matt," pressed Lindsay. "We have a good time together. We don't have to do dates like we did before, if you don't want to. But it would be nice to have something… consistent, don't you think?"

"Not really," said Matt dryly.

Lindsay huffed, crossing her arms and staring at him. Like that would work.

"Here, Linds," he said, standing up and handing her the empty mug. "Thanks for the coffee, and for the booze and the fuck."

"That's a fine way to put it," she said nastily, offended.

Matt blinked at her. "Whatever. I'll see you around."

Without a backwards glance, he made his way down the steps and pulled up his orange goggles, mildly comforted by the familiar tint to his vision. He made his way to his car—one of his most treasured possessions, because he'd done quite a few modifications on it himself—and started the engine. The vehicle rumbled and purred. Matt patted the dash affectionately. Was it wrong that he cared more for this piece of machinery than the girl he'd just banged?

Probably. But again, he had no one to judge him, at least not anyone he cared about. So why should he judge himself?

He made it home soon enough, setting his goggles down on the coffee table and immediately turning on his Xbox360. Flopping onto the couch, he grabbed a controller and put on his headset, ready for a mind-numbing session of Halo. Logging onto Xbox Live like he'd done thousands of times before, Matt relaxed into the sofa. Video games were his escape. His brilliant mind wasn't necessarily _challenged_ by the games, but it was engaged. He could pass long stretches of time, mildly entertained, without facing the pervasive feeling of emptiness in his life.

Clicking madly at the controller, Matt zoned out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Nearly a week had passed since Mello's lazy Saturday with James, and things had gotten much, much busier. For the past few days, Mello had devoted himself completely to learning the art of identity theft. While there were a number of ways to go about it, one of the most lucrative was by hacking into companies' systems and obtaining their customer information.

Unfortunately, this meant that Mello had to do a lot of messing around on the computer, which had never been his forte. Still, he was devoting himself to it just like he used to do with subjects at Wammy's, when he would study day and night just to equal Near's score.

In fact, before he went ahead and did the real deal, he was simulating the process using a number of websites of his own making. They were crude, but it helped Mello to have some stress-free but hands-on practice.

Unfortunately, he was not nearly as good at this as he would like to be. Not to mention that he was oddly distracted by old memories that this assignment had dredged up. Matt would have been doing this stuff when they were still kids at Wammy's. It had been many years ago now since he'd seen or thought of the redhead; Matt had left the institution at the age of thirteen, much to the surprise of everyone involved. Mello, on the other hand, had stayed five more years.

"Don't you think you should take a break?" said James, stepping into the office. "I haven't seen you like this since we first started counterfeiting. Maybe you should get some sleep."

Mello sent him a dirty look. "Sleep is a waste of time."

"You weren't saying that a week ago."

"That's before I had to cram years' worth of learning into weeks."

James chuckled. "I take it that it's not going well?"

"I think I'd rather just go jack some rich woman's purse and steal her credit cards. It would be much simpler."

"You know that's too dangerous."

"Is it?" said Mello, his glacial blue eyes settling on James's face. "You know me, James. Which seems more my style—going out and making things happen, or sitting behind a computer screen, pressing keys?"

"Just because you might be able to get away with it a few times doesn't mean it's the better choice. Besides, overall this way is much safer _and_ we can make sure to target specific corporations and people. If you go after someone on the street, you're taking a gamble, no matter how nicely they're dressed."

"I suppose," said Mello, swiveling his chair back so he was facing the computer once more.

"You want anything? Food? Chocolate?"

"Chocolate, please. Dark—get me the Godiva."

"You got it, babe."

James's footsteps padded away, only to return moments later with a plate that had three truffles on it.

"Thanks, James."

"No prob. Anything to aid the genius at work."

Mello bit into one of the truffles, closing his eyes to savor the flavor for the briefest of seconds, before asking shrewdly, "You know, how come I don't see you doing this, too? If you're such an expert on the situation at hand."

"What, learning how to manage online identity theft?"

"Yeah. You were in with me on the counterfeiting—hell, you taught me how to do it. How come I have to be the one for this job?" The words came out more demanding than Mello intended.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said James, holding his hands up, the picture of innocence. "Natasha doesn't want me fucking it up, all right? You know that's why we found you in the first place. Your IQ, babe. It's off the charts. There's no way I'd be able to learn that as fast as you, and we need to get started right away."

Mello pursed his lips. "What's the rush, anyway?"

James's head jerked oddly as he looked to the side, away from the blond. Mello frowned, puzzled by the gesture. "I dunno," James replied lamely. "Ask Natasha."

"As if I'd go out of my way to converse with that bitch. No way. I'm good."

James huffed. "Come on, Mello, there's no need to be like that."

"She's never given me a reason to enjoy her presence. I'll talk about her how I want."

James's mouth was a thin line, but he (wisely, in Mello's opinion) refused to take the bait.

A ringtone started playing suddenly, and James whipped his phone out of his pocket. "Speak of the devil," he said. "It's Tasha."

"Tasha?" repeated Mello to James's retreating back. Since when did he have a nickname for that woman?

James wandered off to the other room, out of earshot, and Mello sighed as he turned back to the monitor.

What he wouldn't give right now to have an expert here to teach him, like Matt. Mello was okay at learning from books and guides, but his mind really engaged when he was talking with someone. That's how he'd gotten so good so fast at their counterfeiting business. James had been there to explain everything to him. Once Mello had gotten the basics, it didn't take him long to become even better at the process than his boyfriend.

Every so often, he detected a bit of jealousy from James about that fact. He knew that the other man resented him for his skills and quick mind. It didn't make much sense to, though. That was the whole reason they'd met and become business partners, after all. James had wanted someone bright to go in with him and, well, Mello wasn't going to say no to a man who looked like one of his teenage L-fantasies incarnate—except even better.

"Damn it, Mel, focus," he muttered to himself firmly, aware that he'd spent the last couple of minutes daydreaming.

Concentrating deeply, he was startled when James poked his head in the room again, nearly an hour later.

"Hey Mello?"

"Hm," grunted Mello, narrowing his eyes at a particularly stubborn problem he'd encountered.

"I just got off the phone with Natasha; we've got a good-news, bad-news situation."

"Oh yeah?" Interest piqued, Mello stood, stretching and facing James. "What's the deal?"

"Pezox Corp. is reputed to have some very shoddy software to protect their customers' accounts. It's super outdated. Sounds like it would be a fantastic target."

"I'm assuming that's the good news. What's the catch, then?"

"Natasha found out that they're updating and reinforcing their system next week. As in, we have to move fast, or else this opportunity's going to be out the window. At least, until you're a pro, of course."

"Next fucking week?" exploded Mello. "There's no way in hell I'll be ready to hack it before then. Damn it, James; we were talking about rushing things before, but that's nothing compared to what I'd have to do now."

"We have to try," said James firmly. "We need to pick off easy targets first, and we're not going to get a chance like this every day."

"There's no reason to take a risk like this," Mello insisted. "Seriously, we'd be better off continuing to counterfeit for another week rather than go into this too early."

"But I thought you liked risks, babe. You scared?"

Mello looked sharply at the other man. He knew that James had a pretty shady past, and that the man liked to live his life dangerously (usually on the wrong side of the law), but this kind of goading was unusual. Even knowing that, though, Mello couldn't find it in himself to back down. He'd always taken on challenges that were way out of his league and excelled anyway. That was the way he'd maintained his consistent number-two position at Wammy's House.

"You wish I were scared," replied Mello lowly. "All right, bring it on, then. I've managed more impossible feats before."

"That's the man I love," said James, grinning. He swooped in to give Mello a quick peck on the lips, but Mello grabbed James's neck and pulled his face close, opening his mouth and probing with his tongue. Before long both of them were gasping into each other's mouths.

"We can fit in a quickie before I get to work, though," said Mello, raising his eyebrows and staring into James's hazel eyes.

"Yes," agreed James, rubbing at Mello's length through his trousers. "We certainly can."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The Tristram theme from Diablo II startled Matt out of a nap. Disoriented, he felt around for his phone before blinking at the screen. Gregory Lewis flashed across the display.

Why was Lewis calling already? They'd only just gotten paid for their last assignment a few days ago; had he found another this quickly? That would be unusual.

"Yeah?" he said carefully, bringing the cell phone up to his ear and trying to inject a bit of energy into his voice.

"Hey Matt, looks like I've got a job for you. Probably will be pretty quick."

"'Kay," said Matt, covering up a large yawn that threatened to take over his face.

Lewis quickly began to prattle off information. Matt stayed attentive for the important parts and then proceeded to make "uh-huh" noises while Lewis suggested a few strategies. Matt didn't need to listen to that crap; he'd figure out himself how to complete his task. Besides, Lewis was a smart guy—very savvy—but he didn't hold a candle to Matt's hacking ability. Half of the man's so-called informed suggestions turned out to be wrong, anyway.

"Matt, are you still listening?"

"Yep, of course." Oops. He'd probably forgotten to make a noise for a while.

"Right, so it shouldn't take you too long to build their defenses back up—ultra strong; they want the absolute best in the business 'cause they're paranoid now. Whatever. Should only take you a few hours and they're paying out the ass. Oh yeah, and apparently Pezox is offering extra if you can track down the guys who did it."

"That's not always as easy as it sounds."

"If anyone can manage it, you can."

"Right-o, boss. I'll let you know when the job is done."

"See that you do."

Matt clicked the call off. Time to get to work, then.

Standing up from where he'd passed out on the couch, he glanced at the clock. 5:45 pm. God, his sleep schedule was fucked up. Turning off the TV, which was still on even though there was no feed coming through his console, Matt padded to his office.

Even though the rest of his apartment was a jungle of clothes on the ground and dirty dishes, Matt had always kept his office pristine. He had three separate computers in here, all with top of the line hardware, personally made by him (of course). Six monitors were arranged in a semicircle above the desk, three on the top row, three on the bottom. Multicolored cords, neatly bound together, ran along the side of the wall.

Through a window to his right, he had a pretty incredible view of the city, but for the most part he kept the blinds closed to avoid glare on the screens. This was also the one room in his place that he wouldn't ever let himself smoke in. While most of the time he made an effort to go out to the balcony to light up, sometimes his apathy would make him break his own rule and he would smoke in the house. Never in this room, though. These electronics were his babies. They deserved respect.

"All right, Pezox. Let's see what you've got."

He booted up two of his computers and researched the company. Initial screen done, he called the contact that Lewis had given him—some guy named Henry.

"Hey Henry, this is Matt from Hygeia. I'm calling to gain access to your company's database so I can go about the updating process."

"Thank God," a heavily accented British voice answered, sounding relieved. Matt wondered what kind of shit this guy had taken for their debacle. "You know all about what happened, right?"

"I know the general gist of it. You got hacked, your customer information got stolen, yadda-yadda."

"I'd appreciate if you could take the situation a bit more seriously than all that," said Henry, sounding put-out.

"Sorry," said Matt. This was why he shouldn't talk to people. All he did was make social blunders. It was a wonder his boss still employed him. With an effort, he injected some sympathy into his voice, hoping that it wasn't so obvious that he didn't care. "Look, Henry, I'll have everything fixed up for you in a matter of hours, and by the end of the day your system will be hack-proof at least for the next decade."

"Great," said Henry, audibly comforted. "Here, we'll do some identity-check stuff and then I'll get you the information you need…"

The process took longer than Matt would have liked, but then he couldn't always expect other people to be as efficient as he was. Finally, he was ready to hang up with the guy and then get to the fun part.

"Oh, one more thing," added Henry. "I don't know if it's possible, but if you can track down who did it… we want to prosecute the bastard. My superiors want to throw in a hefty bonus if you can find the bloke."

"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."

"Brilliant. Give me a call back when you're done, all right? And let me know if you need anything; from what I've heard, making changes from a remote location isn't as easy as coming onsite. I'm surprised Hygeia didn't fly you out to Manchester."

"Not worth it—I can do just fine from here, with the information you gave me. Bye Henry."

"Goodb—"

Matt ended the call before Henry could come up with any other unnecessary requests. He'd much prefer to get to the computer work.

At first, he felt a little bad about actively attempting to expose whoever had hacked into Pezox's system (after all, they were doing something very similar to what he himself did), but as he investigated further, his compunctions quickly fell away. Firstly, Pezox Corp. was clearly retarded if they thought that their outdated system could keep anyone with a modicum of skill out. Secondly, even with how easy it was to break in, the hacker had done a very clunky job, making quite a few obvious blunders and not taking advantage of things that he should have. Matt's respect for the guy—or girl, he supposed—dropped by quite a few notches.

_Whoever did this deserves to get caught_, he thought in disdain.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Mello was on his motorbike again, driving back from his weekly meeting with Natasha. Naturally, that meant that he was in a bad mood, and today, the woman had gotten on his nerves more than usual. Mello was sick of her attitude; it had only gotten worse in these past few weeks. She acted like he was dirt under her shoes, even though not only was he smarter than her, but she and James wouldn't even be able to run this operation anymore without him.

Nonetheless, she'd seemed more pleased today than usual, which immediately put Mello on edge. She was never happy with him, and even though she praised him for his success with Pezox, Mello had the odd feeling that she was satisfied about something else.

He was only a few blocks away from home, in the narrow alleyways of slum London, when it happened. The black car in front of him stopped abruptly, making Mello slam on the brakes and nearly flip his bike. As it was, he slowed down enough to stop himself from getting injured, but he bumped his bike into the back of the car's bumper, leaving a dent. Busy shouting expletives, he didn't notice right away when another car drove up behind him. Out of both vehicles, a handful of men poured out. At first Mello thought that they were going to yell at him even though it was definitely not his fault about the dent, but then he was getting tackled to the ground.

Taken by surprise, he froze for a second and then started throwing punches at his attackers. Unfortunately, there were four of them and only one of him, and while Mello was a pretty good scrappy fighter, he wasn't anything near able to take on four fully grown men at once. Still, he managed to slip his hand into his belt and unsheathe a knife that he always carried with him. He got a pretty good stab at one of the blokes before another punched him in the side of the head, hard, and Mello immediately went unconscious.

* * *

Mello came to in a windowless room, made out of what looked like concrete. Bad sign. His head and body ached, and when he brought a hand up to his mouth to feel his puffy lower lip, his fingers came away with blood on them.

"Shit," he whispered to himself. Desperately, he clutched his cross, which hung around his neck under his shirt, and started saying prayers under his breath. Even though Mello had an odd relationship with religion, it certainly couldn't hurt to get on the good side of any powers that might be out there, especially in a situation like this.

"Oh, you're finally awake," said an unfamiliar voice. Mello's blue eyes snapped over to the man who had just entered the room. He was a tall guy—probably at least a head taller than Mello—but he wasn't particularly muscled and he had a sleazy look about him that indicated he probably wasn't used to roughing people up very often. No, this guy was likely in charge of the group of thugs who'd beaten him up.

"Why am I here? Who are you?" spat Mello.

"Come now—you know why you're here. You really shouldn't have gotten on Pezox's bad side… Mello, is it?"

Mello's heart raced. "Pezox? What the fuck do I have to do with that?"

"You can stop the innocent act now. We know it was you who hacked their system on Tuesday."

Mello sat quietly, before asking, "How do you know my name?"

"Well, that's the funny thing about your name," said the man with a smirk. "It's not even your rightful name, is it, now? No one seems to know your true identity; even the contact that gave us the tip knew you only as Mello."

"A contact?" Mello's mind raced to figure out who could have ratted him out. It didn't take long to reach a conclusion, no matter how much he didn't want to believe it. Only two people knew about this. "That fucking bitch—her name is Natasha Simmons, you know, and she's done even worse shit than I have, she should be here instead—"

The man laughed. "Sorry. It wasn't a woman who contacted us, although you're on the right track."

Mello stilled. "No."

"Oh yes. Your dear lover James. Such heartbreak to know that he's betrayed you."

"Why?" croaked Mello. This couldn't be happening.

"They were just using you, you idiot, not that I give a damn."

"They have just as much right to be here than I do, how come you're not persecuting them? Huh?" said Mello angrily. His mind was spinning. James… _what the fuck!_

"James struck up a deal with us. We'll keep hush-hush about any of their involvement in your other… indiscretions... in exchange for you taking the blame for it all—the counterfeiting _and_ this. Whoo-wee, you have a lot of people out there that hate you. And you know, Mello, you really shouldn't have targeted a company that is willing to hire guys like me. Pezox's CEO is out for your blood, man, and he'd much rather use us than the police, who don't get a damn thing done."

Natasha must have known. God—why didn't Mello figure it out? The way she'd painted the situation with Pezox was too good to be true. And shit, she'd set him up to fail, only giving him a week to learn how to get into their system. She knew he was smart enough to manage a rough job on short notice, but even geniuses couldn't pull off miracles in no time at all. And James…. Mello couldn't think about James right now.

"So what now?" grunted Mello.

"First things first—your real name, kid. We want it."

"You're not getting it." Nobody knew his real name, except Quillsh Wammy and his long-dead mother.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way to get it out of you," the man said, grinning. Mello steeled his resolve and looked the fucker dead in the face, hoping that the immense amount of hatred that he felt for this guy showed in spades.

"Let's get started, shall we?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Matt stared at his bowl of Easy-Mac, not feeling particularly up to eating it. He'd probably lost ten pounds in the past few months due to apathy alone. Oops.

_Am I depressed?_ he wondered for the first time, staring at his noodles. _Like, clinically?_ Maybe. But he didn't feel particularly suicidal or sad or anything. He just felt… detached. The only things that lit a spark in him anymore were the occasional hacking job, or sex, or drugs. He considered that he hadn't done cocaine for a while now… perhaps it was time to contact his dealer.

Anything to alleviate the boredom. Anything to stimulate his mind that just wouldn't shut up. Being a certified genius certainly had its downfalls. He couldn't stop _thinking thinking thinking _or get a damn moment's rest without the help of some drug, whether it be caffeine or nicotine or booze or something harder. Unless he kept his mind occupied with a complex task, he tended to go a little crazy. Maybe his brain had just decided to periodically shut off, these past few years, instead of going into hyper drive without anything to engage it.

Matt had just decided to text Carlos to see what he had on hand, when a call came in. Lewis again.

"What's up?" he said lifelessly.

"Nice work on the Pezox job, Matt—they even caught the guy who did it, and they're willing to pay you a bit extra just for helping narrow his IP address to a certain area."

"What? But that's all I could do. It wasn't nearly enough to actually find an individual—"

"Turns out they got a tip off from someone, too, which was in line with your predictions. I mean, I'm sure that their contact ended up being far more useful than what you did, but if they're offering you a small percentage of the reward pay, I wouldn't complain."

"Yeah, I'm not, but…" Matt shrugged. "Weird."

"I know, right? Sounds like they're still trying to get the guy's real name before they move forward, but our part is done, so the money will be wired to your account later today."

"Real name? Wait, let me guess—from his shoddy work, I bet he has a ridiculous alias. Something along the lines of U17|M473 H4X00R, all spelled out in leet speak."

"Hah, nah, I don't think so… it was something a bit lower-key—Mellow, I think. Anyway—"

Matt blinked. "Mellow? Mellow with a 'w,' or without?"

He could practically hear Lewis's look of confusion. "Hell if I know. What's it to you? You know of him?"

There was no way it could be Mello, his classmate all the way back from their Wammy days… right? But this company _was_ based out of England… Mello wouldn't have had to go far. Still, what would have possessed the blond to get into hacking? From what Matt remembered, Mello had always been pretty dismissive of computers.

"Probably not," replied Matt truthfully, "but I used to know a guy that went by that name, from England. I mean, the chances it's the same bloke are pretty low."

"Bloke, eh—getting back to your British roots?"

"Shut up, Lewis. I haven't been there since I was a kid."

"Yeah, yeah, you still have a bit of an accent, though, sometimes."

_Only when I get really plastered_, Matt thought darkly.

"There isn't… I mean, is there any way I could find out if it's actually him?" Matt didn't know why he was asking this. What did it matter anymore? Nonetheless, the words fell out of his mouth like he had no control over them. "Just for peace of mind, you know. It's probably not."

"I dunno," said Lewis slowly. "If I were you, I wouldn't get involved any further. No need to get mixed up in all of that."

"I'd still like to check it out," said Matt firmly. His own vehemence surprised him.

"All right, all right. I think I can get you in touch with the guys, or at least obtain some info for you, but be careful, Matt. I don't want you drawing unnecessary attention to what _we_ do, after all."

"No one's ever suspected a thing from us. It'll be fine."

"See that it remains that way, then."

Within an hour, Lewis had sent him an email. Matt was actually surprised at the lengths his boss had gone to get him info. Then again, Matt had never asked for anything before, so perhaps he was owed a favor by now.

To his delight—and trepidation—Lewis had actually managed to procure a picture of "the prisoner." Matt wondered what kind of strings he had to pull to do that, and a totally unexpected surge of gratitude rushed through him for his boss. Sure, their relationship was purely business, but Matt didn't really have friends in the normal meaning of the word, and he'd known Lewis for years.

Hesitating briefly, Matt double clicked on the picture attachment. The image that opened was obviously not from the past day or two; it was a photograph of two men, probably taken months ago but held on file. One was a very familiar blond man, hair falling to his shoulders in a way that was somehow feminine and masculine at the same time. He had icy blue eyes and a straight nose, with pale lips and a well-defined jaw. The other was a slightly taller guy, probably a few years older, with warm hazel eyes and spiky black hair. Mello—because it was undeniably Mello in that picture—was giving the other man a grin that was far too mischievous to be considered an innocent smile.

Matt stared at the image. He hadn't seen Mello since they were thirteen, but there was no mistaking him; that smile hadn't changed a bit.

Well, fuck. He was so certain that the man behind this whole thing _wouldn't_ be Mello, that he hadn't really given any thought into what that meant for him. Could he really just stand by and let his former classmate and somewhat-friend get nailed by the guys Pezox had hired?

Rubbing a hand along his face, Matt swiveled the chair around and stood up, reaching immediately for his pack of cigarettes and heading for the balcony. Before he could wrap his mind around this situation, he needed a smoke.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"So you decided to contact a friend, did you? How the fuck did you do that?" the man sneered as he entered Mello's cell. It wasn't a conventional prison, of course. These guys weren't interested in abiding the law, as much as they called themselves a criminal-justice group. From the past couple of days, Mello had determined that this guy—codename "Zed"—was basically the head of a gang-for-hire. Anyone who needed a dirty job done without the authorities knowing would get in touch with these guys.

Mello tried to give him a foul look, but arranging his face into a scowl only caused it to hurt more. Instead, he tried to convey the precise mixture of disgust and hatred he felt for Zed through his eyes alone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mello finally replied, tight-lipped.

"Like I haven't heard that one before," scoffed Zed.

"Yeah, well this time I really have no clue. Go suck on that, arsehole. Beat me up all you want; it's not going to help."

"A tempting proposition," said Zed. "But not this time. You're lucky you have connections that are incredibly loaded who want you to remain unhurt, otherwise I'd oblige you."

"Now I really am curious," muttered Mello, bemused. Who the hell was rich and helping him out? L? Mr. Wammy? He'd cut all ties with them. They shouldn't have found out about this, and even if they did, there was no reason for them to care. Mello had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with them, for any reason. "So let me get this straight: someone's paying you more than Pezox to stop?"

"Quite a bit more, yes."

"I can see why that would be in your interests. So… you gonna let me go?" he asked, still dazed by this change in his fate.

"Your friend should be arriving any minute now; he flew in from the states, I believe. He'll be taking you with him."

It occurred to Mello that this might not be a good thing after all. He sure as hell didn't know anyone from America, and an unknown benefactor could have any number of motives to rescue him. He might be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

Well, Mello reflected, even after some time of incarceration and mild torture, he still hadn't given up his name, so he figured he could handle whatever was coming. Zed waited with him, looking quite satisfied and not particularly bothered by Mello's clear loathing of him. Mello figured that the bloke probably changed loyalties to anyone who could shell out more pounds. That wasn't the kind of thing he, Mello, could manage. If he hated someone, he _hated_ them. He could hold a fucking grudge like no one else.

Minutes later, a sharp knock sounded at the door, and Zed strode over to let the people in. A woman, probably part of Zed's clan if her getup was anything to go by, led a man into the room.

Mello blinked up at the newcomer. The guy had dark red hair, a striking color that was only outshined by slightly bloodshot peridot-green eyes. The smell of smoke stuck to his clothes: a striped black-and-white shirt paired with dark blue jeans and brown combat boots, laced high. A pair of orange goggles hung around his neck.

No. Way.

"Not looking too great, there, Mello," Matt said with an angry glance at Zed. "I thought I told you not to hurt him."

"We stopped once we got your message. This is from before."

"I see. Well, I'll be collecting my cargo, then. Take those cuffs off, will you?" said Matt irritably. "I'm not paying you this much to stand around."

Zed took out a key and quickly worked it into the cuff locks. Mello, fully realizing they weren't allowed to hurt him anymore, took the opportunity to spit in the man's face just as he clicked them off.

"Eugh!" Zed reared back as a mixture of saliva and blood got him straight in the eye. Mello grinned as the man clearly restrained himself from retaliating.

"Here, take your stuff and get the fuck out of here," ordered Zed, wiping at his face in disgust. The woman stepped forward and handed him his wallet, cell phone, and knife, which had been immediately confiscated upon his arrival here.

"Gladly," said Mello, taking the items and forcing his aching limbs into a standing position. Gingerly, he stepped toward Matt. A fucking unlikely savior indeed.

Mello followed the redhead out of the place, unable to hold in a sigh of relief when they finally stepped outside. He hadn't known the next time he'd be out in the world, free; too many worst-case-scenarios had gone through his mind during the long nights in that building.

"You're not too terribly hurt, are you?" Matt asked him somewhat awkwardly, without looking him in the eye. "Your face is pretty beat up."

"I have a black eye and a split lip, don't I?" replied Mello wryly. Matt nodded. "Don't worry, it looks worse than it is. The face always swells a lot more than any other part of the body."

Matt led him to a rental car, which smelled heavily of smoke. Mello coughed when he slid into the passenger seat, clearing his throat.

"Sorry," muttered Matt. "I only just got off the plane before coming here, and that was fucking trans-Atlantic, you know. A long-ass time not to light up. And Jesus Christ, it's weird driving on this side of the road."

Mello stared at the other man. "But we—you lived here for so long. And you're British."

"Got my license in the US, though. And I clearly was not of driving age when I first left here at thirteen. I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah," said Mello. "About that… not that I don't appreciate you saving my arse and all… but really, what the fuck? This came out of nowhere. Matt, I haven't heard from or talked to you in what, eight years now?"

"That's about right."

"So what gives? Why are you here?"

Matt let out a long breath, checking the review mirror as he changed lanes. "I don't know."

"Well, that clears things up. I'm glad we had this little talk. Maybe we'll chat again in another decade?"

Matt made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a snort. "I booked you a flight to come back to Chicago with me."

"Chicago… okay," said Mello, taking that in stride.

"We're heading there now—back to Heathrow, I mean."

"Shit man, didn't you say you just got here? You could take a break before going straight back, you know."

The redhead just shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking when I made the reservations."

"Speaking of which, those must have cost a fortune to book so late. Not to mention however much you spent to pay off those thugs. Seriously dude, I don't know why you just emptied your bank account to get me out of there, but thanks. Really." Mello wasn't in the habit of thanking people very often, so when he did, he meant it. He wondered if Matt knew how sincere he was.

"I didn't," replied Matt. When Mello gave him an odd look, he elaborated. "I didn't empty my bank account, I mean. Don't worry, there's still plenty left."

"Right. Either those guys were cheaper than I thought, or you are un-fucking-believably rich."

Matt cleared his throat. "The second one."

"Been putting that Wammy's education to good use, I suppose."

"Not really. Most of everything I do now was self-taught. That's why I left. There wasn't anything more that I needed to learn there, and I'd already caught the attention of a number of people interested in hiring me. No use to stay in school anymore."

"So _that _was why you left?"

"Mhm."

"Damn, everyone came up with so many elaborate stories and the real one is the most boring of them all. I should have known."

"Quillsh… Mr. Wammy didn't tell you all? Or Roger?"

"Nope. And for the record, I would have appreciated if you'd told me yourself. It's not like it was some shameful secret, after all, and we were friends."

Matt glanced at him. "Kind of friends. I spent more time alone, playing video games or tinkering with computers, than I did with people."

"We were on good terms, at least. I clearly remember letting you copying one of my assignments, and I don't let just anyone do that."

"Oh yeah," said Matt, the corners of his lips quirking up as he remembered. "I'd forgotten that. I'm pretty sure I had stayed up all that night raiding on WoW."

Mello rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Matt coughed and said, "Uh, is there anything that you need? I had a buddy of mine whip up a passport for you, but that's all I did. I kinda forgot… you probably have stuff to pack. I dunno when you'll be back here."

Mello's mood soured. "No… I'll pick up some more clothes and stuff wherever you're taking me. I don't want any of my old stuff. In any case, my backstabbing bastard of a boyfriend probably pawned off all my belongings for money by this point."

"Oh," said Matt, taken aback. "So, you're, uh, gay?"

Mello twitched and glanced at the other man, trying to gauge his reaction. "Yeah. I dated a woman, once, but it didn't work out, and I haven't looked back. I've been with a bloke for the last year and a half. Why, is it a problem?"

"No," responded Matt. "Guess I just didn't expect it."

"I suppose I don't look my best right now," said Mello, glancing down at his torn leather jacket and skinny jeans.

"What does that have to do with… it?"

"Eh, just that most people guess my orientation by the way I dress. That and my hair."

"I think it looks fine long."

"Well, thanks," said Mello, unable to suppress a grin. This whole situation was so surreal. Here he was, getting driven to the airport by _Matt _of all people, to be whisked off to Chicago for who-knows-what after a completely unexpected betrayal and a brief imprisonment.

"Right, we're almost there," said Matt. "If you climb into the back, I packed a bag with some clothes if you want to change. Your shit's pretty ripped up, and we're already going to get some weird looks for how bruised your face is, so I'd recommend it."

"All right," said Mello, for some reason surprised that the redhead had thought this far ahead. He needn't have been, he reminded himself—Matt was a genius, just like him, not some dunce off the streets. Still, the guy was pretty spacey. Mello wasn't quite sure he was all there.

Unbuckling, he reached into the back seat and grabbed a duffel bag, unzipping it to peer inside. A red striped shirt. A pair of jeans. A bizarre beige vest with white fluff lining. A button-down collared shirt. Sweatpants. A plain gray tee.

"Holy shit, this is quite the variety," he commented.

"I didn't know what you would want, so I just threw one of everything in there."

"Yeah, I can tell," said Mello, finally deciding on the gray tee shirt and a pair of jeans. It wasn't really his style, but he couldn't afford to be choosy. He slid off his skinny jeans with some effort, as they were pretty tight to his legs, pulling up his boxers so they wouldn't slide down with his trousers. He saw Matt look away when he began to change, cheeks slightly pink.

He pulled the jeans on. They were a bit too long for him, as they were clearly Matt's, and Matt was probably two inches taller than he was. They were wider in the waist, too, so Mello searched for a belt and gratefully found one in the bag. When he took his jacket off and started to peel off his favorite black vest, however, he winced.

"Damn… there are blood stains all over this. That's not going to come out easily."

Matt's brow furrowed as he glanced back at Mello. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, mostly just bruised," replied Mello as he gingerly pulled the vest over his head and stared down at his naked torso, mottled with blue and purple welts and decorated by the occasional cut. He donned the gray tee shirt quickly, not wanting to look at his body anymore. No one wanted to see that mess, and furthermore he didn't want Matt getting a good look. The redhead had done more than enough already; Mello would rather not add anything else for him to worry about.

"'Kay, here we are," said Matt as they pulled up to the rental car return area. "I'm going to have a quick smoke before we go in; be right back."

Mello watched the redhead wander off to an area with an ashtray and shook his head, still baffled by the happenings of the past few hours. For all that he had talked to Matt, he hadn't really gotten many straight answers, and he still didn't know why the hell he was being brought to Chicago.

Still, it was an interesting turn of events. And more than anything, it kept his mind off of James.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Matt stared at the blond curled up next to the window, dead asleep. Somehow, even when he was beat up and bruised, Mello managed to make an airplane seat look like a huge, cushy recliner. It _was_ first-class, Matt supposed, and yet he himself could never get comfortable on a flight, no matter how nice it was.

Then again, maybe his problem was that he was all jittery and stressed out from lack of nicotine. He'd only had a couple of cigarettes today, and he was paying for it now. Honestly, he wondered what the hell had gone through his head to think that practically back-to-back trans-Atlantic flights would be a good idea.

_God damn it Matt,_ he thought to himself. _For a genius, you are surprisingly thick._

Exhausted by doing nothing, he sat back in the chair and pulled out his 3DS, starting up a newly-purchased game in an effort to distract himself from cravings.

The game had gotten pretty high ratings, but it didn't hold his attention very well. For some reason his gaze kept slipping over to Mello.

He wasn't what Matt had expected, although if asked what he _did _expect, Matt wouldn't know what to say. This whole adventure had been the most spontaneous thing he'd done in years. Actually, probably ever. Seriously, what had possessed him to go halfway around the world to get a… could he even be called an old friend?… out of a sticky situation by spending loads and loads of his hard-earned money?

Matt must be snapping. Really, this was a clear sign he was going insane. His eyes drifted back to the young man beside him again as if drawn by a magnet.

He knew from standing in line to board the plane that Mello was now shorter than him by a little. It was strange because Matt had always been a small child, the last one of his peers to hit a growth spurt. He was used to Mello towering over him like he did when they were thirteen. He also didn't expect the broadness of the blond's shoulders and his strong, defined jaw; most of Matt's memories featured everyone with a layer of baby fat on their cheeks. Even seeing that picture hadn't quite made it _real_ to Matt. Yes, Mello had clearly grown up. There was even a decent covering of blond stubble across his neck and cheeks, although Matt had the feeling that the other man normally was quite well shaved. Getting captured and held for interrogation for a while would certainly interrupt a dude's grooming schedule, though.

And the revelation that the guy was gay… perhaps Matt could have seen that coming. After all, Mello had always worn his hair long and preferred tight clothes. At the same time, though, the blond had been extremely athletic and popular in Wammy's House—far more so than Matt himself—and had a penchant for heavy swearing and violence. That wasn't usually something Matt expected in guys who liked guys.

Matt rubbed his temples, feeling ridiculous as he realized what he was doing. There was no sense in trying to add up traits, weighing each one in terms of 'gayness,' as if sexual orientation worked like that. It just happened.

Perhaps Matt was just surprised because everyone at Wammy's House had seemed so asexual. True, Matt had left before his year mates' hormones had properly kicked in, but everyone was so busy studying and pursuing their own passions that there was very little time remaining for romantic interests. The number of older students that had dated at Wammy's House was few, and the couples were gossiped about so much that it dissuaded others from asking people out purely to avoid the inevitable drama.

Matt sighed, trying in vain to stop his mind from thinking about all this. What was the point of dredging up old memories that he hadn't thought about in years? Now was a completely different time.

Still fidgety, he waved down a stewardess and ordered a complimentary beer, flashing his ID. The one truly awesome thing about traveling first-class on this airline was the free booze. Blinking, he wondered if the drinking age on flights was eighteen or twenty-one when traveling between Britain and the US. Not that it mattered, since he'd turned twenty-one that past February.

Matt reminded himself firmly that he couldn't let himself have too many, otherwise he'd have a hell of a time driving home. And wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing. Look, Mello, I brought you to Chicago just to get pissed and get in a fucking car crash the moment we land! Yeah, that wasn't happening.

The flight attendant delivered the drink in moments, however, and Matt downed half of it before forcing himself to place it on his tray. He'd have to ration the rest for remaining hour of the flight.

Moments later, Mello shifted in his seat, and Matt watched as the blond's blue eyes blinked open. Immediately, Mello began scanning the area. There was no trace of the bleariness or mind-fog that Matt normally experienced right after waking, and he couldn't help be impressed—and a bit jealous.

"What time is it?" Mello asked him.

"Nearly eleven at night, at least Chicago time. We should land around midnight."

"No way, I've already slept for… seven hours?"

"Like an angel," said Matt, fighting a smirk.

"Ha-ha," Mello deadpanned. "Whatever, that's pretty good. Although now I'm going to be truly fucked for the time change."

"No kidding."

"I see you didn't get any rest," said Mello, gesturing to Matt's haggard face. "You look like shit. Is it possible for your eyes to get any more bloodshot?"

"Aw, shut up. I didn't get any sleep last night, either, you know—I was too busy planning this whole operation. And I can never relax on planes. I don't know why."

"Scared of crashing?"

"Hardly," scoffed Matt. "More like… there's nothing here good enough to distract me from thinking, calm my fucking mind down. No cigs, either. I get so damn bored but half the time I can't go to sleep without something to help. At least at home I can take sleeping pills if necessary. I should have brought some with me, come to think of it."

Mello regarded him, cocking an eyebrow as if still figuring Matt out. Mello's eyes were so sharp that Matt could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind, the cogs turning steadily. Determined to ignore the penetrating stare, Matt turned back to his 3DS, going through the motions of turning it on again and starting up a game while Mello continued to gaze at him.

"Stop looking at me like that," snapped Matt after several minutes of the penetrating gaze.

"Like what?" asked Mello.

Matt glared at him. "Never mind. Why don't you just go back to sleep or something? There's still nearly forty minutes left of the flight."

"Nah, I'm good and awake now."

"Fine."

"By the way, I expect a few more answers out of you once we get to our destination," added Mello. "I'm playing along for now, but I realize that you definitely have an ulterior motive for this, and I _will _find out what it is."

Matt nodded, musing that he'd like to figure out the very same thing.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks so much for your reviews so far!_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"You live _here_?" exclaimed Mello, staring up at the posh skyscraper. He wasn't even going to guess at the price of the condos and apartments inside. Even though he and James had made quite a lot of money from their counterfeiting operation, they had to be careful how they spent it, so they hadn't bought anything _too _lavish. But Matt…

"Yeah," replied Matt in a monotone voice, leading him through the front lobby and into an elevator. Pressing the button for floor twenty-five, the redhead leaned back against the elevator wall, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

He really did look terrible, Mello mused. Even though Matt had some striking features—those green eyes were one of a kind, really—he had a sickly, unhealthy pallor to his skin. Those cigarettes certainly hadn't done him much good.

Mello hadn't spent much time, over the past few years, wondering what had become of the redhead, but if he had, perhaps he could have predicted this. Matt had always had an addictive personality; he'd been way too enamored with video games. After leaving Wammy's House, who knows what kinds of bad influences he'd been exposed to without having any parents or guardians to keep him in line. Actually, considering that, Mello was impressed that Matt wasn't even worse off.

They reached his floor and walked across the hallway, turning the first corner and unlocking a door. Right behind the redhead, Mello stepped in.

The furniture in his place (not to mention that huge big screen TV) was high-end, but clothes and empty cans littered the place. A box of cereal sat on the coffee table, open and surely getting stale. The room, like Matt, smelled very faintly of smoke, but it could be much worse. Mello refrained from commenting on the state of the place, but Matt could tell what he was thinking.

"Sorry," he muttered, starting to walk around the room and pick things up.

"It's your place, dude," said Mello. "I'm just happy to be out of that cell. Really, anything is better than that."

"I guess," said Matt, grabbing the cereal box and disappearing into the kitchen. Soon thereafter Mello heard the sound of running water and subsequent scrubbing, and when he looked round the corner, he saw Matt trying to clean some pan in his sink.

"Hey," he said, walking over to the redhead and laying a gentle hand on his arm. "You don't have to do that. I'll take care of it. You go to bed."

Matt blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "What? It's my mess."

"I'm not denying that, but you need to get some sleep, and I will most likely be up for the whole night anyway 'cause of this time change and the fact I slept for nearly the whole damn plane ride. I have plenty of time to straighten your place up."

"Still," said Matt. "This isn't your problem."

"Flying to England to break me out of a bad situation wasn't your problem, either, but you did it, didn't you?"

"I suppose."

"It's the least I can do. Don't worry about it, all right?"

Matt still looked uncomfortable, but he stepped away, dropping his sponge back in the sink. "If you say so."

"I do."

"Right," he said. "I'll be, uh, in the bedroom, over there. I'm afraid I don't have another proper bed here, but the couch has a pull-out if you want to get some sleep, and it's actually pretty comfortable. There are extra sheets in the linen closet right there."

"That's fine. Perfect, really. I spent the last two nights sleeping in a wooden chair with my hands cuffed behind my back. Seriously, I don't think you recognize how low my standards are right now."

Matt nodded. "Okay. I guess… we'll talk more about everything in the morning, if you can wait that long?"

"Of course. Now go to bed, Matt."

For the first time in hours, Matt cracked a small smile, and Mello couldn't help but stare at how it lit up his whole face. "Yes, mother."

Mello watched as Matt disappeared into a room at the far end, which clearly had an en suite attached by the sound of a sink running and a toilet flushing. Within fifteen minutes, however, the house was dark and empty and still once more.

When Mello was fairly certain that the other man was asleep, he looked around the apartment once more. It was now prime time to snoop and find out more about Matt, if he could.

Padding softly around the family room, Mello scanned the walls. For the most part, the place was bare except for a couple of black-framed video game posters—one of Master Chief, the other of Mario. There were certainly no photographs hung up, nor were there any picture frames propped on any of the surfaces in the room. Unsurprisingly, the cabinets next to the TV were chock full of gaming consoles from the past two decades. Mello had never been much into video games, but even he could recognize that this was quite a collection. Super Nintendo, Sega Dreamcast, Atari VCS, PS2, N64, Gamecube, Xbox 360… the list went on and on. In a drawer, he found stacks of games, all sorted by console. Then, of course, there were the requisite controllers for each system, which were kept neatly in another cabinet, their cords wrapped carefully.

No surprises there. Closing the cupboard doors, Mello straightened from his crouch, feeling a pain shoot through his chest. Ouch. Those muscles were sore and bruised.

Thinking to find himself some Advil or something, Mello wandered to the main washroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet. Sure enough, there was a bottle of Advil… some Tylenol… and holy shit, there was quite a collection of pills in here. There were some normal things, like eye drops and Sudafed, but there were also some caffeine pills—NoDoz—a metric shit ton of NyQuil, sleeping pills, Valium, Vicodin, and… fuck, were those ecstasy tablets?

Shaken, Mello closed the cabinet. Right. Well, he had somewhat suspected this, what with Matt's cigarette habit and his somewhat groggy, spacey state, but it was one thing to guess and another thing to see the evidence for himself.

The guy was probably an addict. Mello ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he passed over a bump on his head that was still healing. He didn't get the impression that Matt would be particularly dangerous when high, but it worried Mello. After all, while he was here in Chicago without any belongings of his own, he was basically subject to the redhead's whims. This was his only place to stay—even if he wanted to return to England, there was no way he would be going back to live with James.

And if he was honest with himself, he was worried for Matt's health, too. Consuming all this shit—hopefully not at the same time if he had any sense—could seriously fuck a person up.

Making his way to the kitchen to keep his promise and actually do some dishes, Mello reminded himself not to make too many assumptions. He'd watch Matt and see for himself. Then again, how could Mello ever trust his own judgment again? He'd obviously never seen James's betrayal coming, and he'd dated the man for more than a year.

Bitterly, Mello pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He didn't want to face the hurt about that right now; if possible, he'd avoid it forever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Matt woke, utterly tired. He peered blearily at his bedside clock, which displayed 11:02 am in bright green digits. Seriously? How could he have slept for nearly ten hours, yet still feel completely un-rested?

He considered trying to fall back to sleep, but abruptly remembered that Mello was here in his house, probably waiting for him to wake. Guiltily, Matt realized that the blond was probably bored out of his mind, not that he was familiar with Mello's hobbies. Unless he had helped himself to Matt's gaming stuff, though, there really was nothing to do.

Zombielike, Matt made his way to the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and mechanically applying toothpaste to the bristles. He winced at his own reflection in the mirror. His dark red hair was rumpled, sticking up in odd places, and his face looked like something out of the walking dead. Ugh.

Minutes later, he emerged to make a beeline for the kitchen, intending on making an extra strong cup of coffee. He glanced at the sofa on his way over, but even though the futon was pulled out, there was no sign of Mello. Shrugging, he made his coffee and then walked around his place, searching for Mello, sipping as he walked.

Not in the family room. Not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen. Not in his bedroom, of course.

Matt's eyes narrowed, knowing the only place he could be—his office. Mello had better not be messing with his electronics…

Picking up his stride, Matt threw open the door to his office, only to reveal Mello, sitting innocently in his office chair, staring at a textbox on the center screen.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked rudely.

Mello faced him, grinning. "Pretty nice gear you've got here, Matt."

"You better not have hurt any of it. I swear, I'll kill you if you did."

"Dude, settle down," said Mello in a placating voice. "I didn't do anything. As you can see, I couldn't even log in to your desktop, not for lack of trying to guess your password, though. I bet you have a lot of D's and A's in it… maybe S's and W's. Those keys are worn down more than the rest."

Matt stared at his keyboard before letting out a rusty chuckle. "Nice investigative work, detective Mello. But I'm afraid you're wrong about this one."

"Oh, really?"

"WASD, buddy. Those are the keys which let you move around in a lot of PC games. That's why they're more beat up than the rest."

Mello laughed. "I should have known. So how'd you sleep, princess?"

Matt threw him a dirty look. "Terribly, as usual. I'm starting to think I need a new mattress or something, because that bed just isn't working the magic it used to. Did you, ah, want coffee or anything?" he added, as Mello's eyes rested on his mug.

"No, I'm good. Thanks, though."

An uneasy silence grew between the two of them, and Matt shuffled, wondering what to say next. He wasn't used to having to carry on a conversation, and even more, he had no idea how to entertain someone in his home. Why did he do this again?

"Look, I usually don't bring drinks in here. Don't want to spill and accidentally fuck up something important, so I'm kind of breaking my own rule right now. Why don't we go out to the other room?" he suggested.

"You're the boss," said Mello, standing up. He was still wearing the gray tee shirt and Matt's jeans.

"You're welcome to raid my closet for more clothes, but we should probably go out and get you some later today or tomorrow."

"Yeah, that'd be good. No offense, but we don't really share the same taste in clothes."

"None taken. I don't know what the hell I'm putting on half the time I dress myself, anyway. Apparently none of it matches, according to my ex-girlfriends, but I really don't give a fuck."

"So you don't intentionally cultivate that steampunk image you've got going on there?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "I pick out things that I like to wear. If it turns out that I do have a 'style,' then whoopee for me. Why the fuck are we discussing fashion, again? This conversation is so not in my lexicon."

Mello shook his head, smirking. "You're a riot, Matt."

"Hmpf."

He helped Mello fold the futon back into the couch, and they sat down for the barest of moments before Matt stood up again. "Actually, I'll be right back," he said. "Gonna go smoke."

Coffee, then nicotine. That was usually how Matt's mornings went before he could function properly, and here Mello was, messing up his routine. The moment he stepped onto the balcony and lit up, however, he felt a bit of calm descend on him. It was fucking cold outside—nearly December—but the frigid fresh air was like a shock to his system, making him feel more alive for once.

A minute later, the sliding door opened and Mello stepped out beside him.

"How long you been smoking?" he asked.

It wasn't something Matt had paid attention to, so he quickly did the math in his head. "Six… no, six and a half years? I think?"

"So you were what, fifteen when you started?"

"Yeah, somewhere around that age."

"Ever thought of what your parents would think about that?"

"My parents are dead, same as yours. You know that."

"Of course. That is usually a prerequisite for living in an orphanage, after all. Still, that doesn't stop me from wondering every so often what my mum would think about me now."

"You remember her?" asked Matt in mild surprise.

"Yeah. She died when I was seven, but I couldn't forget her if I tried."

"I see. Well, I don't remember my mother, but if she was anything like my dad, then I'm sure neither of them would have given a fuck about what I'm doing now. My father was a raging alcoholic—killed my mom, actually, when he beat her up too bad one night—and then I got placed in foster care. He died a few years later, in prison."

"Jesus," muttered Mello. "Sorry I asked."

"Meh," said Matt. "It's not like any of it matters now. That all happened a long time ago. Besides, after a long chain of events it meant I finally got to attend Wammy's, so honestly it worked out for me."

"Till you left."

"Yeah." Matt shook his head, hesitating. He cleared his throat. "I probably made a mistake doing that. Leaving, I mean."

Mello's level gaze was on him, and Matt looked away, not able to hold up under that icy blue stare.

"Is that what this is all about? Trying to relive the glory days with me, Matt?"

"I don't fucking know," said Matt sharply. Suddenly he was angry—angry at Mello and himself and everything. "All I know is that you are a fucking terrible hacker, Mello, and you never should have tried, damn it!"

Mello regarded him, unfazed. "So that's how you found me. You were the one Pezox hired to update their system after my whole debacle."

Matt nodded, swallowing. "What the hell were you thinking, man?"

"I'd rather not get into it," said Mello grumpily. "Just know that it wasn't my idea. I bet you're all judgey now, huh? Well, genius or not, perhaps I'm just not smart enough to make fuck-tons of money all straight-laced like you did."

Matt put out his cigarette and turned to the blond. "I really don't give a shit about that, Mello. Not to mention that the second portion of that is patently untrue. I'm not ready to give away all my secrets, but surely you must know that I couldn't afford all this and more without circumventing the law at least some of the time."

"Really…" said Mello slowly, thinking that over. "Interesting. You know, I wonder if Wammy's House didn't actually end up creating more criminals than law-abiding citizens. We were allowed so much freedom for our genius to flourish that I think most of us learned to disregard rules."

Matt nodded. "It's likely."

"Now let's get back inside. It's cold as all hell out here," said Mello, rubbing his bare arms.

"Just wait till you face your first real Chicago winter. Believe me, it's nothing like Britain."

"Well, fuck me," said Mello.

Matt couldn't help smiling at the blond as he stepped back in the house, warmth billowing across his skin again. Perhaps… perhaps this had been a good idea after all. It was nice to have something like a friend here.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Sure you're warm enough?" Matt asked him. Mello nodded around the heavy coat that Matt had lent him.

"Toasty," replied Mello honestly. The thing he was wearing was more of a parka than anything, and it probably could have kept an Eskimo sweating.

"Right… I think I know the way to the mall. What kind of places do you like to shop, anyway?"

Mello shrugged. "Doesn't matter—if it's a big enough mall, it should have a few stores I like."

"It's pretty big, if I remember correctly. One of my exes, Hilary, took me there years ago."

"Are you saying you haven't been to a mall in_ years_? As in year, but plural?"

"Yeah… why?"

Mello snorted. "Where do you buy your clothes and shit, then?"

"I order them online," said Matt as if it were obvious.

"They never fit properly if you do that," scoffed Mello.

"Well, unlike you, I don't prefer my clothes skintight."

"Touché."

Mello followed the redhead to his car, thinking to himself that even if Matt didn't like tight clothes, his jeans still did a great job showing off his arse. The moment the thought flitted through his mind, Mello immediately clamped down on it.

_No way, Mels. Firstly, this guy is straight. Secondly, you're just messed up after what happened with James. And most of all, it's never a good idea to start thinking those thoughts about the only person you know in this entire country who also happens to be giving you food and a place to live. Not. Worth. Compromising._

After this firm internal pep talk, Mello wrenched his thoughts onto a new topic.

"I never asked, what's with the goggles? You've had them—or at least ones like them—ever since I can remember."

"Oh," said Matt, opening his car door and sliding in. Mello did the same on the other side. "They're just a special kind of gaming glasses."

"Gaming glasses?"

"Yeah, they ease the strain on my eyes when I stare at a computer screen or TV for hours and hours. The orange-yellow tint reduces glare."

"Wow," said Mello. "And here I figured they were just some kind of sentimental thing. Like a security blanket."

Matt rolled his eyes at him. "I don't need anything like that."

_But you certainly have a lot of other crutches, _thought Mello wryly.

Their trip to the mall took nearly three hours, to Matt's clear annoyance. Despite what he'd claimed, Mello was very particular about his clothes, and he needed to buy quite a lot of them now. As they moved from store to store, Matt would stare dubiously at the pieces Mello picked out, and he was absolutely no help when asked what looked better.

"Just get like five of the same white tee shirt," said Matt finally in exasperation. "Not everything you have has to be unique and trendy. We've been here for _hours_."

Mello didn't deign to reply to that. The redhead would never understand.

Finally, they left, but not before Mello had to drag Matt out of the Gamestop, where he'd immediately purchased a new game and started playing around with one of the ones on display. At last, the two of them were on their way back to Matt's place, with a load of shopping bags in the backseat.

"Well," said Matt, "Even though you made me stand around while you acted like a complete girl, that was still a far better experience than the last time I was there with Hilary."

"It was… fun," Mello said. "Although I didn't appreciate all those stares; what, have people never seen anyone with a black eye before?"

"It's healing pretty well, though. Much better today."

"I suppose."

Matt turned the radio on when it became clear that their conversation was dying away. For a few minutes, Mello stared out the window, thinking over his situation. Spending some time with Matt and staying at his place was all well and good, but what was he _doing _here? Matt wasn't holding him hostage, or anything—he was just treating him like a friend who had no place to stay. It was more than Mello deserved, but at the same time it baffled him. People just didn't do nice shit like this without expecting something in return.

His eyes flicked over to Matt, driving casually with one hand on the wheel, his fingers drumming along to the beat of a song. Even though his striking green eyes were still a bit bloodshot, he looked far more awake and alive today than he had yesterday.

If Mello ignored the unnatural pallor of his skin, he had to admit that Matt really was an attractive man. His features were perfectly symmetrical, and he had a wonderful profile; his nose had a gentle slope, his jaw was sharp, his cheekbones were high. That dark red hair covered his ears a bit, slightly shaggy, but its disarray gave a rugged edge to the delicate handsomeness of his face. He—

_Oh damn it. Mello—STOP._

Clearing his throat, Mello blurted, "So not that I don't enjoy going shopping and stuff… but I can't just lay around your apartment every day. What do you want me to _do _here?"

Matt shrugged. "Whatever you want. I don't care."

"No way. None of that bullshit again. You brought me here for a reason, even if it's one you don't want to admit to yourself. Or one you don't fully understand."

Matt was silent for a long moment. "I think…"

"Think what?"

"I think I just needed a change. Still need a change. I'm so sick of everything, so bored, and going after you was exciting. And you can think on my level, unlike the people I know here."

"So I'm here because I'm smart? Matt, unless we start working on some kind of complex math problem, that's not going to matter. You're a prime example of how book-smart doesn't equal street-smart."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Uh, have you noticed how unhealthy you are? No real genius would trash their body like you do."

"Fuck health, I probably won't live to see forty anyway."

"Why the fuck not?"

Matt shrugged. "Mello, there's nothing to do in life but seek thrill after thrill and never feel content. I'll kill myself before I live another twenty years like this. God, just the thought of existing for so long, going through the same damn routine, is exhausting as hell. And really, none of this matters. Sure, I've got money. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Now what? What else is there to pursue? Marriage to some girl that I can't stand and a house full of kids and a little dog too? Do I have to be a drone to my own biological purpose and fulfill the urge to procreate? Will that make me happy? Hell no. I can't imagine living into old age, so I don't give a damn about my 'health.'"

Mello stared at him. The redhead looked like he regretted saying that much—and probably hadn't ranted for that long in a while.

There was so much wrong with what Matt had just said that Mello didn't know where to start. At least the guy wasn't actively suicidal, but he was most likely depressed and lacking a clear purpose.

"I went through a phase like that," said Mello quietly. "Right around the time I started realizing I was gay. I had all these preconceived notions about what the ideal life would be—like you said, rich with a wife and kids—and I finally came to the realization that I didn't _have_ to follow that cliché dream if I didn't want to. I could create my own goals, my own life, on my own terms."

Mello sighed, continuing on. "And Matt, whether you brought me here for this purpose or not, you need to learn to live again. You think you've seen it all, like there's nothing new and refreshing to do to break the cycle of day after day? Please. Think again, pal."

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Change my mind. Show me that there's something worth pursuing out there. I don't think you can."

Mello raised an eyebrow. "All right. But in return, I have two conditions: I want help getting revenge on the people who ratted me out."

"Fair enough. What else?"

"You also have to get me chocolate."

"Chocolate?"

"Lots of it."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The next day, Matt got a call from Lewis about another job. Apologizing to Mello, he spent most of the day in his office, goggles on, cracking into a company based out of Arizona. They actually had very good protection, so Matt was left frustrated, multiple times storming out of the room and smoking grumpily on the balcony. Each time, Mello would quirk a brow at him from the sofa, where he sat reading one of Matt's programming books.

Finally, at nearly nine o' clock in the evening, Matt made it into the system. As always, it was a bittersweet moment; he'd accomplished his goal, yes, and that pleased him, but now he was left without something engaging to do.

_At least Mello is here_, he thought. Matt's normal routine at this point would be to grab a beer and play a video game—probably a first-person shooter—for the next ten hours till he passed out. With Mello around, at least he had someone to talk to, just to break the monotony.

"Success," announced Matt, emerging from his cave of electronics.

"Took you long enough," said Mello, voice dripping with mock condescension. "And they call you a good hacker."

"Pfft. I'd like to see you do what I just did."

"Yeah… no. I had my try, and we all saw how that turned out. Even reading this programming book is starting to give me a migraine. I think it's a sign."

"Hey you want a beer or anything?" said Matt as he walked into the kitchen.

"Nah, I'm more of a wine guy."

"That's not very British," commented Matt. "But at least you're classy. Unfortunately, I don't have any wine here for you. I do have one bottle of champagne, though, if you're interested."

Mello paused and then finally said, "You know what? Why the hell not. Sure, I'll take champagne."

"Sweet," said Matt. "I've been trying to get rid of this ever since Lindsay brought it over."

"Lindsay, eh?"

"Yeah," said Matt, striding into the family room to set down a glass for Mello, his own beer in the other hand. "My last girlfriend. She probably thinks she still _is_ my girlfriend, actually, although I tried to make it pretty clear that's not the case."

"I know the feeling," said Mello. "That's part of the reason I prefer guys more than girls. When I was still figuring out my orientation, I was with a girl a few years ago named Heather. Even though we had absolutely no sexual compatibility, she went into complete crazy-mode when I broke up with her. She was convinced that I would see the error of my ways or something, so she wouldn't stop calling me, trying to win me back and all that. I ended up having to block her number and actively avoid places that she knew I liked to go. Some women… mental, I tell you. Too much drama."

Mello sighed, taking a sip of the champagne, adding sourly, "Then again, perhaps men aren't any better. Fucking James…"

"Was James your, uh, 'backstabbing bastard of a boyfriend?'"

Mello snorted. "Good recall, Matty. Yep, that's the one. He and our other partner-in-crime, Natasha, are the ones I want to get back at."

"Right. So how do you want to go about that?"

"I'm not sure yet. I wish I knew why…" Mello shook his head, tugging at a strand of his hair. "It doesn't matter why, though. I'm just an idiot for not having seen it coming. Love will do that to you."

Matt cleared his throat awkwardly. He wouldn't know. He'd never been in love—or at least, he hoped not. Because if what he'd felt for those girls he'd dated was love, then it wasn't nearly at all what it was cracked up to be.

"Give me a week," said Mello suddenly. "To come to terms with it all, and start considering what I want to do. Then we'll talk about this again."

"All right. Just remember, I won't be much help unless there are computers involved. Or electronics, at any rate. I'm one of the best in the world if I'm dealing with that stuff; with anything else, I'm completely useless."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

Matt laughed hollowly, but didn't respond and took a long swig of beer. There was no escaping how useless he really was. He considered that he'd been acting the role of a normal person pretty well these last few days. But Mello had no idea how dead he was inside, and how he had somehow managed to fuck up everything in his life that didn't involve a computer. It wasn't a coincidence that he had no friends, no family, no life beyond hacking and gaming. He was a piece of shit.

Unbidden, memories rose in him of the men who'd employed him when he was still barely a teenager. Frank and Richard and the rest. They'd had no interest in caring for a little boy who thought he was all grown up just because he had an IQ of 164. He'd been a toy to them, a tool for their greed. He'd wanted to impress them… to show them that he was capable and mature and so very smart.

What a fucking mistake. He never should have left Wammy's House. It seemed so obvious now. At least he had been safe there. Take Mello—he was relatively well-adjusted. That could have been Matt, too. Instead, he'd let those people use him, all in the pursuit of what—money? What a fucking dumb idea. Money that he'd only used to fuel every goddamn flaw that he had. And he'd been so alone, subject to the whim of strangers that were really rather sick and depraved, under that shiny veneer of authority.

Matt shuddered, overwhelmed by memories he'd rather not face. He stood abruptly and ignored Mello's look of concern. "Going to the bathroom," Matt muttered by way of explanation.

Once there, he closed the door and turned on the light, immediately opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing the bottle of Valium. Shaking out a few pills, he crushed them into a fine powder and leant down on the counter to snort the drug. His nose burned, and Matt cupped his hand under his nostrils, feeling immediately dizzy with the rush. He then sat down on the toilet seat, clinging onto the pill bottle like a savior.

His eyes scanned the label as he started to feel the effects. Diazepam… _used to treat anxiety… works by decreasing brain activity. _Good. Stop thinking. Stop fucking thinking, Matt.

In minutes the high started to rise within him. A feeling of dulled calm settled throughout his body, and Matt slumped, reveling in the sensation.

"Matt?" There was a pounding on the door. "Are you okay in there?"

That's right, Mello was here. At the thought of the blond, he smiled. That guy was great. "Yeah," said Matt, standing a bit unsteadily and placing the bottle back in the cabinet. Barely remembering to flush the toilet so that Mello didn't suspect anything, Matt opened the door and grinned widely at the slightly shorter man.

"Hey, Mello, let's play some Call of Duty. Come on, I'll show you how to pwn everrrry noob on the battlefield. It'll be _great_!"

Mello only looked at him, an expression of clear confusion in his blue eyes. "Is something… wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong; everything is fine," said Matt, smiling. The world was a soft, gentle place right now. Why the hell had he ever been worried about anything? Walking to the couch, he felt like he was moving through liquid. Languidly, he relaxed into the cushions.

Mello settled next to him, still giving him an odd look, but Matt couldn't bring himself to care or even bother deciphering that expression. Instead, he picked up a controller and handed a second one to Mello. This was going to be so much fun!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

This was _Not. Good._

Mello kept a worried eye on the redhead next to him. When Matt had first emerged from the bathroom, it was a shock to see him so… happy. His face was slack and relaxed, so carefree. The change from Matt's normal behavior was so striking that it made Mello's mouth dry for a moment. If he'd thought that Matt was attractive before, it was nothing compared to now. The other man had an infectious laugh and a fucking amazing smile.

From that moment, Mello knew something was wrong with Matt, but he couldn't confirm what had happened until Matt and he had started playing that game, Call of Duty. While the redhead seemed to be having a great time, he played absolutely _horribly_. Running into walls, seeing enemies that weren't there, giggling the whole while. His reaction time was nil. Sometimes he spoke, and his words weren't clear—instead, they were slightly slurred. There was no way that one beer would get the redhead drunk, so it couldn't have been that. Then, as he apparently tired of the game, Matt lay back against the couch, his eyes closed, breathing oddly.

"Matt," said Mello, suddenly scared. "What the fuck did you take?"

A bright green eye opened and peered at him. It had an unnatural, glossy sheen to it. "Whaddaya mean, take?" he asked slowly.

"What fucking drug are you on, you dumbarse," snapped Mello.

"Oh, that," said Matt, closing his eyes briefly again and apparently concentrating on swallowing his own saliva. "Benzodiazepines are fucking awesome."

Mello shook his head, surprised that Matt had even been able to say a long word like that without messing it up. He supposed that somewhere in that addled brain, there was still a genius. Apparently.

"You're an idiot," spat Mello, suddenly angry as hell.

"Yeah, I know," said Matt. "One bad decision after… after another. All my fault," he breathed, and the delirious smile fell from his lips, replaced by a miserable frown.

His breaths were coming erratically again now, and it seemed like he was starting to hyperventilate. The strain was clearly too much for his lungs, because he started coughing instead, bent over double. Mello was at his side in a moment, arm wrapped around the redhead, speaking calm words that belied the anger he felt.

"Calm down, Matt. Just breathe. Focus, mate."

Slowly, Matt regained control over his body. His eyes were closed and he was still bent forward, but his respiration was normal again. Delicately, Mello retracted his arm from its place around Matt's back. When the redhead finally opened his eyes, Mello was horrified to see that they were red and full of tears.

"Sorry," said Matt brokenly. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry."

"It's all right," said Mello blankly—because what else did one say to that? It certainly was _not_ all right, but he wasn't going to bring that up right now, obviously, lest it send Matt into some kind of fit.

Matt leaned back and slumped against the arm of the couch, closing his eyes. "Tired," he mumbled.

"Don't you want to go to your bed?" asked Mello.

"This's fine."

The redhead fell quiet and still. As minutes passed, Mello walked over to him, unable to resist feeling his neck for a pulse. The guy's heart was beating strong. Just sleeping now, then.

Standing up abruptly, Mello paced around the apartment, wanting to scream. He wasn't equipped to deal with this kind of a situation. He'd been in this country for only a couple of damn days, and somehow he had become a default caretaker for the messed-up sod that was currently passed out on the couch.

_He's lucky he's so damn good looking, otherwise I'd just up and leave._

Mello stomped over to the bathroom and threw open the medicine cabinet. Quickly, he grabbed every last pill bottle—even the Tylenol—and dumped their contents down the toilet. He knew that this wasn't a proper way to dispose of medicines, but he really did not give a fuck at the moment. Just as long as Matt couldn't get his hands on them again. Damn it, he should have done this before.

When he reemerged into the family room, Matt was still where he'd left him, now snoring softly. He looked so young sleeping there, his lips slightly parted and his trademark mahogany hair covered with a light sheen of sweat. Mello sighed, his rage seeping out as he stared at the other man.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked the redhead softly, knowing he wouldn't get a response.

His makeshift bed—the pull-out from the couch—was clearly not an option for sleeping, so Mello padded over to Matt's bedroom and peeked in. The king-size bed in there was huge and very comfortable-looking, but the idea of sleeping there felt odd as a guest, when its proper inhabitant was currently in a drug-induced stupor on the couch.

Mello considered carrying Matt over to the bed, but the moment he touched him, the redhead shifted and whined in his sleep. It was probably best not to disturb him.

Finally, Mello grabbed a blanket and curled up on the other side of the couch, pressing a pillow to the arm of the sofa so that he was facing the other man. This way he could still watch Matt and make sure he was okay throughout the night, if something were to happen.

Still reeling from the time change—and everything else that had happened—it took a long time for Mello to get to sleep that night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Soft breathing sounded from nearby. Matt stirred, opening his eyes slowly. The world around him was bright—much brighter than normal. Glancing around, disoriented, he realized he wasn't in his bedroom, but on the couch with a crick in his neck from sleeping awkwardly.

And there, on the other side of the sofa, was Mello, snuggled up to a large pillow, his blond hair in disarray and half-covering his face. He looked so innocent and peaceful that Matt merely stared for a long while, wondering why he had this strange obsession with watching Mello while he slept. At last, he began to consider why he was out here instead of in his own bed.

_What… why am I…_ Oh. _Oh._

Matt closed his eyes again, feeling a rush of guilt and self-loathing so strong that he actually put a hand to his mouth, nauseated. Panicked, he rose, stumbling over to the toilet as fast as he could. He gagged into the bowl, but only a bit of watery brown liquid came out, mostly bile. He hadn't had anything for dinner yesterday, he realized as he panted, kneeling on the cold tile.

His head pounded fiercely. Standing up, he shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling around for his cigarettes. Finding them, he walked to his balcony and with trembling hands, lit one, cupping the end with his hand to shield it from wind.

Only after a good fifteen minutes of calming down did he finally come back inside. From the look of things, Mello was still sleeping, and Matt couldn't help but be glad. He'd do anything to delay the conversation that they were surely going to have.

Unfortunately, that thought had just barely crossed his mind when Mello moved and stretched, yawning widely.

Matt stood like a deer in headlights as the blond finally turned, catching sight of him. An array of expressions flitted across Mello's face, but then he settled on a blank façade that made Matt more nervous than any of the others.

"So, Matt," he said quietly. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Matt cleared his throat. "Fine."

"That's nice," said Mello with slow, deliberate calm. "No, ah, plans to try to kill yourself today?"

"What?" said Matt. "Come off it, Mello, I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Not intentionally, sure," said Mello in an ugly tone. "But you're fucking retarded if you don't realize that every time you do something stupid like that, you're weakening your body and your mind. Ever thought about how many brain cells you've already killed ingesting chemicals? You're committing slow, stupid, _entirely preventable _suicide. Not to mention that there's a good chance that you'll slip up and overdose, and die just like that." He snapped his fingers.

Matt frowned, hesitating. "I've always been fine before. Just because you're here to, I dunno, _witness_ it, doesn't change anything."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life."

"Mello, just drop it. Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

The blond laughed in his face. It was not a kind laugh. "That's cute, Matt. 'Sorry' makes it all better."

"Well, what do you want me to do now?" asked Matt angrily. "It's not like I can go back and change it."

"Never. Again. Matt," said Mello slowly and clearly. "If I'm living here, I want some house rules, and I want respect. Putting me in that situation? That's irresponsible and only something a shitty friend would do."

Matt glanced away as a fresh stab of self-hatred struck him due to Mello's words. He _was _a shitty friend. That's why he didn't have any, and shouldn't even be _allowed_ to have any.

"I'll let you continue smoking your cancer sticks and having the occasional beer, _for now_," said Mello scathingly, "Since it would probably kill you to quit everything at once. But I swear to God, if you don't lay off the other stuff—prescription meds, hard drugs, whatever—then don't expect for me to stick around to help. Got it?"

Mutely, Matt nodded. While he felt sufficiently shamed, at the same time a totally unexpected rush of happiness grew in him. He'd never had anyone care about him before like that. Not a parent, not a friend, not a lover. It was a foreign, bizarre feeling to have someone looking out for him, and he didn't want to do anything else to mess that up.

"It won't happen again," Matt promised firmly. He could do that, right? He had to.

"It had better not."

Mello gave him one last glare before turning to straighten the room. Desperate to get Mello's mind off of what a failure he was, Matt searched for a new topic.

"So, uh, is there anything you wanted to do today? I'm pretty sure I have no work."

Mello paused, smoothing out a pillow and plucking a blond hair off of it. "What do you normally do around here for fun?"

Matt blushed. "Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure. Play video games… take apart my computers and put them back together… you know… that kind of thing. If you have any suggestions, though, I'm open."

"There's something I've wanted to do recently," said Mello haltingly. "You know what, never mind."

"No, go on. What were you going to say?"

Mello hesitated for a long moment.

"Well… do you remember when Near and I used to go take special classes at Wammy's?"

_What does that have to do with anything?_ Confused Matt replied, "Yeah… because you two had the top grades in the school. Everyone was always so curious… and jealous… but I assumed you were told to keep quiet about the point of your special treatment. Why, you gonna let me know what that was all about after all these years?"

"You nearly edged out my spot there, you know," Mello told him grumpily. "You were third for so long; I admit, I was a little relieved when you left, just because of that. Still, in the long run, it was probably bad for me."

"What do you mean?"

"I suppose it doesn't hurt to say. Well, Matt, the top students at Wammy's were being trained to be L's successors. World-class detectives, that is."

Matt blinked. "Did… did you ever meet him? L?"

Mello gave him a very sly smile. "Multiple times. Way more often than Near. He liked me."

"No shit! You son of a bitch," said Matt, laughing. "That's what those classes were all about? Did you get to work on cases?"

"Later on, real ones, yeah. When we were little, they were either set-up scenarios or already-solved crimes from the past."

"Still… that's awesome."

"It was great," agreed Mello, before continuing on heavily, "until L picked Near."

The blond visibly deflated, and Matt noticed Mello's hands clench at his sides before his fingers straightened again with careful calm.

"Eleven years, Matt," said Mello lowly. "I worked my arse off for eleven fucking years to be L's successor, only to be told, upon my graduation from Wammy's House, that it wasn't enough. That the fucking sheep, Near, was L's ultimate choice. 'Good run, though, Mello—now why don't you get out of here and enjoy finding a new purpose in life.' _Fuck _them all."

Matt didn't know what to say. "Mello…"

"I don't know why I even bothered. Sure, L may have liked me better than Near—at least, as much as he liked anybody—but Near was far more similar to him: emotionless and analytical and childish. In the end, that was all that mattered. You know what one of the reasons they told me was? The fact I had to bust my balls to get to the top meant I didn't have enough natural skill. I might burn out if I kept that effort up, or falter if I wasn't sufficiently motivated. They couldn't afford to take a chance on me." Mello paused. "Becoming L's successor was my whole life, Matt. It was all I had ever known and all I had ever wanted."

"I… Shit, Mello, that sucks."

Mello snorted. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. Anyway, upon graduation I decided to give them the big 'fuck you' and outdo them at their own game. Be a better criminal than they were detectives, as it were. But… I don't think I'm meant for that kind of thing. The counterfeiting operation that James and Natasha and I ran worked out pretty well, but it wasn't some grand, ostentatious project; we kept it small, under the radar. And then that brief foray into online identity theft… well, you saw firsthand how that turned out."

"I'm sure that if you'd spent a good few months learning, you would have been fine, Mello. The stuff I saw… yeah, it was kinda shitty, but you made rookie mistakes that are so easily corrected with time and experience."

"It's okay, you don't need to reassure me or lie. It's all right—my work was shit," said Mello, "I don't think that's my style, anyway. I'm just not a tech junkie like you. But I was thinking… now that I'm here with you—another Wammy's genius, and third-best, no less—maybe we could work together to do what I've always wanted."

"Which is?"

"Be better than Near. Of course, I don't think L will ever change his mind about who his successor is because he's a stubborn bastard, but we can show him that he sure as fuck made the wrong choice. And besides, I'll be more capable than I ever was alone, if I have you backing me up."

"So you're saying you want to be… detectives? Solve crimes before Near does and all that?"

"Exactly. My problem before was that there was no way I could get highly classified case information without being part of L's system. But you…"

"Oho. I see where you're going with this. You want me to hack into databases and police records and shit, am I right?"

"You can do it, can't you?"

"Of course I can," said Matt, almost offended, before he started grinning. "And you're right… it'll be fun."

Mello smile was so wide that Matt immediately felt an almost painful rush of affection for him. Somehow, in the span of days, the blond had become the most important person in the world to him. His best friend. They just clicked, like they were meant to be around each other. Wistfully, Matt realized that they could have been close all through their teenage years and beyond, if only he'd stayed at Wammy's House.

Still, better late than never. And this was an exciting, completely new twist to Matt's life. For the first time in a long time, he felt grateful that he had so many days ahead of him to enjoy working with Mello. For once, the future was bright.


	16. Chapter 16: Interlude

**Chapter Sixteen: Interlude**

Natasha stormed into the bedroom, where James was reclining lazily atop the duvet, typing something on his laptop. He barely looked up as she stomped in, so to get his fucking attention, she swiped an empty water glass off the bureau and threw it, hard, at the wall.

The glass shattered. James winced, ducking and throwing his hands up to avoid being hit by shards.

"Tasha, what the fuck!" he exclaimed, turning his brown eyes on her.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, James," she said, seething. "What. The. Fuck. Have you heard? Mello managed to weasel his way out of prison."

"What? How?"

"I don't fucking know," she spat. "Some fucking _deus ex machina_ that's completely unbelievable. Did he ever mention to you that he had a rich friend in the states?"

"No," said James, setting his laptop to the side. "I would have known something like that. I knew all his other friends around here, and if he had someone loaded enough to pay off Pezox's thugs, surely he would have mentioned it when our funds were tight. I don't understand…"

Natasha eyed him. "You're behind this. You have to be."

"I don't _have_ to be anything. What would I gain from setting something like that up?"

"You like him too much; you always have. You would want your sweet little boyfriend safe."

"Tasha," said James in a long-suffering tone. "You know as well as I do that I didn't love him. You're the only one for me, babe. Come here."

Natasha hesitated but then gave in, sitting down next to the dark-haired man on the bed. She remained stiff, though, as he put an arm around her and nuzzled her cheek.

"Remember our agreement," he said softly, brushing his lips across her ear. "After Beyond left, we knew how much better things would be if we had someone like him working with us. You and I are sharp, my dear, but we both know we don't hold a candle to people from that genius orphanage. Do you remember the day when we met Mello?"

"How could I forget?" she said bitterly. "He came right to you like a moth to a flame. He wouldn't even look at me."

"You can't take that personally, babe. We both agreed we'd take our shot at seducing him, but how could we predict who he'd take to? We're just lucky that I'm bi."

"Lucky," she scoffed. "Not for me. And I don't think he believed you about being completely gay, you know."

James shrugged. "Whether he did or didn't, it doesn't matter now. When you deal with geniuses, you _have_ to go for the heart. That's the only way you can control them; you can't outsmart them. And it worked, didn't it?"

"Too fucking well."

James sighed. "Tash… I love you. I've always loved you, the whole time I was with Mello."

"Yeah, well, it certainly didn't look that way! How do you think it felt, to watch you two move in together just to keep up the façade? I hardly ever got to see you, and when I did, you had your hands all over that blond whore!"

Swiftly, James pressed his lips to hers. Then he pressed her down roughly so that he lay on top of her, tongue in her mouth, hands in her hair. Natasha sighed into his lips, feeling relieved and reassured and more than a little turned-on. He was hers, hers and no one else's.

"You feel that?" said James, pressing her hand to the crotch of his jeans so that she could feel his erection, hard and hot. "You do that to me, Tasha."

"Good," she said huskily. "I don't ever want you with anyone else, do you hear me?"

James smirked. "No need to be jealous—I want _you_."

The words were like a jolt to her groin, immediately making her slick. Soon, they were stripping, and James fucked her hard so that she was screaming with delight, and finally when they lay back on the bed, spent, she turned to him one more time.

"Just so you know," she said, "I still want Mello out of the picture completely."

"Babe, why? Just forget about him."

Natasha didn't care what James said. Even if he insisted that he didn't feel anything for the blond, she knew otherwise. She'd seen the way James had looked at Mello when they were together. It wasn't all an act. And she'd been patient enough, these past couple of years. Sure, they'd made some decent cash, but it wasn't worth losing James. There was only so much a girl could take, and she'd finally reached her snapping point.

Getting Mello caught and having him take the blame for their crimes… it had been the perfect solution. The bastard would get thrown in jail, she'd never have to see him again, and she could have James all to herself once more.

But now, impossibly, he was free and presumably somewhere in America. Not only that, but he certainly knew by now that Natasha and James were behind his capture. He wasn't stupid, after all. And as long as Mello was at all able to come back and steal her man, she wasn't satisfied.

Last time, she had plotted for his incarceration; this time, she would take no chances. She wanted Mello dead.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"All right, so how are we going to get started?"

Mello glanced at the redhead and handed him a sheet of paper. "Here's a list of the largest criminal investigative departments and agencies that I know of. If we want to get anything done, we need to be aware of the current and longstanding unsolved crimes."

Matt scanned the list briefly before his green eyes snapped up to meet Mello's. "Why isn't L's system on this list?"

"No one can gain access to L's feed. Need I remind you how powerful he is? He has fucking governments on his speed dial, Matt. Information that goes to him is encrypted and protected better than fucking Fort Knox."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but those protections are created by humans. Smart humans, I grant you… but anything that is man-made is not indestructible or unbreakable. _Any_ barrier can be breached, if you try hard enough. It's all a matter of finding the right exploit."

"That's a wonderful attitude, Matty, but I don't think you realize what you're getting into."

"Look, I promise you I'll hack L's system. It may not be a week or month from now—hell, it could possibly take a year if I have to resort to some tactics—but I guarantee I'll do it eventually."

Mello smirked at him. "If you say so. Good luck with that."

He appreciated Matt's initiative, but there was no way the hacker could get into L's personal files. L was the most paranoid person Mello had ever met, not to mention the most brilliant. The older detective wasn't a slouch when it came to computer knowledge, either. In fact, he was world class at just about everything he did. Well, except for social skills, nutrition, and perhaps fitness. A man had to have some shortcomings, though.

"So I'll get started on these… how will we decide which cases to investigate?"

"We'll choose ones that are either very high profile or very complex. Preferably, both. We want our name to be recognized by the top detectives, namely Near and L. And then, when we start solving cases faster than they do, they'll be forced to find out more about us and take out the competition."

"Take out the competition? That doesn't sound good."

Mello waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, no harm will come to us. It's just that L has a habit of defeating and/or forcing anyone who is a threat to his dominance into obscurity. He'll be driven absolutely mad, trying to figure out who the newcomer on the scene is, until he finds out that we're behind this."

"And who exactly are 'we?' We're going to need a name."

"I thought it would be obvious. Together, we're M. Matt and Mello, baby."

"Not that I don't like that," said Matt, grinning, "but L is certain to connect M to you, what with Wammy's practice of giving every student an alias based on a letter. He might not guess that I'm part of the project, but he'd find you out in a cinch because it's so straightforward. So how about W, instead? M upside-down."

"Sure," agreed Mello. "Even though Mr. Wammy kind of owned that letter, it'll just fuck with them more to look like we're imitating it. So W it is. I mean, he'll discover us quickly no matter what, but we can make him work just a little harder at it."

"Sweet. I'll get to work, then."

Matt stood up and made to disappear into his office, but Mello caught his arm before he could leave. "Hey, uh, do you have another chair we could pull into your office… and could I use one of your computers?" he chanced.

The redhead hesitated. "I, ah…"

"I swear to God I will treat your electronics as if they were my own children," said Mello seriously, clutching his cross. "I'm a religious man, Matt. You can trust my word."

Matt's eyes shifted to the side uncomfortably. "How do I know you're not the type of guy to beat his kids?"

"What?" spluttered Mello, before he started laughing. "Oh, Matt. Come on, mate. Please. I'll be gentle."

"I suppose," Matt relented. He looked very shy and tentative as he grabbed a kitchen chair and carried it to the entrance of the office. Shit, he was cute.

As Matt set him up on one of the computers with careful instructions on what he was and was not allowed to do or touch, Mello couldn't help but tune most of it out because he was distracted just gazing at the redhead. Matt didn't look anything like James (or L, for that matter), but he had a lure all of his own. He was tall and lean—although a little on the skinny side, honestly—with boyish handsomeness and a quirky sense of style. His light green eyes were one of a kind, too, when they weren't obscured by those supposed "gaming goggles."

It was _such_ a pity Mello would have to settle for the friend zone.

"Mello, are you even listening?"

"Of course," said Mello in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "You have nothing to worry about, okay?"

"If you say so," said Matt dubiously, leaning over to type a password in. As Mello watched, he then swiped the tip of his index finger against a small, clear square on the keyboard, which apparently had a laser inside to scan his fingerprint. At last, the operating system started up and a bright, HD display appeared on the monitor closest to Mello.

"Right… I'll be working over here on this one," said Matt, gesturing to a computer to Mello's left. "I, uh, usually listen to pretty loud music, though, so make sure to tap me or something if you need my attention."

Matt then reached for a huge pair of green headphones, settled them on his head, and pulled up his goggles. Thus fully "outfitted," the gamer turned to his own keyboard and began typing a ridiculously long password to secure entrance. Only minutes later, the redhead was completely absorbed in his own world, opening browsers and using dual monitors to rapidly enter long stretches of code into a program while simultaneously reading up on various organizations.

Mello hid a smile as he witnessed the hacker in his natural environment. Stretching his fingers, he prepared to launch into some of his own research. But first…. He glanced quickly at Matt, who was clearly too immersed in his own business to oversee what Mello was doing.

He'd start making notes about case information soon enough, Mello decided. Instead, he typed the names Natasha Simmons and James Clayworth into a search, determined to use every resource available to him to dig up dirt on the two.

They would pay for what they did to him. And now that Mello was determined to become a renowned detective… soon, he would find a fitting way to make those backstabbers pay. Whether it be by monitoring their actions and leading them into a trap, or by opening an investigation concerning something they'd done in the past, Mello would find a way.

All he had to figure out was how to avoid getting his own name caught up in the process.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Soon, Matt and Mello settled into a routine of sorts. Mello would wake early in the morning to go over their findings from the previous night, while Matt would sleep in late, have his coffee, go for a smoke, and then hole himself in the office for most of the afternoon. Sometimes, he was interrupted by a call from Lewis so that he would actually have to do a job; luckily, those assignments rarely took long.

In the evenings, they would relax, and the two of them would do whatever it was they felt like. Occasionally, Mello would humor him and play a video game with Matt. Other times, they would watch a movie. And then, every once in a while, they would head out to a club or bar.

Matt was familiar with quite a few of the bars nearby, as they were his default places to pick up women. He wasn't very good at flirting, but somehow he'd always managed to attract a girl when he really wanted one.

It was a foreign experience to go to those places with Mello. He'd never gone to a bar with a friend. He'd also never considered going _without_ the intention of getting wildly drunk.

This was one such "night out." Mello and he had arrived at a pretty popular place just on the edge of the bustling center of downtown, an establishment within walking distance of Matt's apartment tower. As it was now December, they had just finished peeling off coats and layers of clothing before finding a place to sit in the back. Music was pumping loudly out of speakers as Matt watched Mello make his way to the bar to order some drinks.

Contentedly, Matt sat back and watched a pack of women walk by him, all wearing incredibly short dresses and tons of makeup. His eyes lingered on their bums as they sauntered along; uncomfortably, he shuffled in his pants. It had been a little while since he'd gotten laid, but he didn't know how that would work now that he was sharing a place with Mello. Unless he went home with a chick, there was something supremely uncomfortable about bringing a girl back with him for the night while Mello slept in the next room. Bros before hoes, right?

But more than that, it didn't seem right to be with someone… like _that_… right now. It didn't quite make sense, but Matt had a feeling that bringing a girl into the mix would interrupt this thing he and Mello had going on. They were a team, they were friends, and Matt was starting to feel happier than he ever had before. He didn't want anything to fuck that up, even if it meant getting well reacquainted with his hand.

Matt looked up as he saw Mello making his way through the crowd. The blond grinned at Matt and set a beer down for him while holding onto a White Russian for himself.

Matt grabbed his drink and took a sip. "Oho, an IPA. Let me guess, Dogfish?"

"Right in one."

"Good choice," said Matt appreciatively. He nodded toward Mello's beverage. "I didn't know you liked White Russians."

"Of course I do. They're tasty, and I am, after all, a white Russian."

"Wait, are you saying that you're actually from Russia?"

"Yep," said Mello, leaning back. "Lived there till my mum died, then came to Britain when Mr. Wammy found me."

Huh. Somehow Matt had never thought about Mello being from anywhere but England, but it made sense. Idly, he wondered if the blond's real name was something very Slavic-sounding. "Can you still speak the language?" he asked curiously.

"Yeah, I can. Not as well as before, obviously… but I kept up with it as one of my independent studies at Wammy's. I rarely have any reason to use it, though."

"Wow. I never knew."

"You had no reason to. I picked up a British accent before you even came to the orphanage… and no one there talked about their pasts much."

Matt thought that over while taking a long swig of beer. Mello eyed him.

"Remember, Matt—you're under a three-drink limit for the night."

"Yeah, yeah," said Matt, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say, mother."

The last couple of times they'd gone out, Mello had kept an annoyingly close eye on him and his drinking. Matt found it a little overbearing—he wasn't an alcoholic, after all—but following the incident with the Valium, Mello apparently didn't want to take any chances. If it had been anyone else monitoring him, Matt would have told them to fuck off, but he had a soft spot for Mello. He didn't want to disappoint him again.

"You know, I never, ah, asked," said Matt suddenly. "Would you rather go to a… different kind of bar?"

Mello quirked a blond brow. "Different, how?"

"Like… a gay bar," said Matt, feeling awkward.

Mello laughed. "Oh. No worries, Matt, I wouldn't make you go to one of those. Firstly, I'm not looking to pick someone up at the moment… still coming to terms with that whole James thing. Also, you would get absolutely mobbed. Not to mention that there are quite a few gay guys even in places like this."

"Mobbed? What? And how do you know?"

The blond tapped his head. "Finely honed gaydar, here. Look, see that Mexican guy with that group of chicks? Gay. And there was a bloke we passed on the way in with dyed blue hair, kinda skinny? Him too."

"Wow," said Matt. He then narrowed his eyes at Mello. "But what do you mean by I'd get mobbed?"

For the first time that Matt had seen, Mello visibly blushed. "Oh come on, Matt, don't make me say it."

Matt was confused. "Say what?"

"You're a good-looking guy, all right?"

"Oh." Matt blinked, never having considered himself like that before. Sure, he had never seen himself as _ugly,_ but he was really nothing special. Although he supposed that when a gay dude told you that you were attractive, it might be true. "Thanks?"

"Oh, shut up, you wanker," said Mello, still pink.

Like a thunderbolt, the thought suddenly struck Matt that Mello could possibly _like_ him. Eyes wide, he stared at the blond that was peering stubbornly into his drink. Did he feel uncomfortable about that? Kind of, but not as much as he normally would have. After all, it was _Mello,_ not some random gay dude hitting on him.

Granted, "hitting on him" wasn't the right phrase. Matt shouldn't flatter himself; just because Mello thought he looked good didn't mean that he wanted him like that. Still, he found himself oddly pleased by the compliment.

Before he could tease his friend about it, someone called his name.

"_Matt_? Matt—is that you?"

Matt's eyes locked on to the source of the voice, and immediately his heart sunk. A thirty-something brunette woman had caught sight of him. He hadn't seen her for nearly five years, and he'd hoped never to see her again.

"It _is _you!" she said, walking up to him as Matt tried to calm down. Breathe. Breathe, Matty.

"Regina," he managed to groan. "Go away, please."

"Who's this?" said Mello, sizing the woman up. She had the washed-up appearance of someone who had partied too much in their twenties, but hadn't yet realized that she was no longer the looker she used to be. Even through heavy globs of whorish makeup, it was easy to see that her face was sallow and prematurely aged. She was also unhealthily skinny, with barely any curves.

"My, you've become quite the adult," Regina said appreciatively. Forwardly, she laid a hand on Matt's arm, squeezing his bicep.

"Get the fuck off."

"What a way to greet an old friend!" she exclaimed, completely unabashed. She was also completely drunk.

"You're a friend of Matt's?" said Mello, blue eyes flicking between the two of them.

"No," growled Matt, while at the same time Regina said, "We were much more than friends, weren't we, darling?"

Matt couldn't miss the dawning expression of horror on Mello's face at this admission.

"You mean, you—?" Mello croaked.

"Okay," said Matt, standing up and grabbing Regina roughly. "You and I are going to go have a talk. I'll be right back, Mello."

"I like it when a man takes charge, Matt," said Regina huskily, clinging at him. Matt felt sick as he led her outside. "It's such a change from the way you used to be, too."

"Look, Regina," said Matt fiercely once they stepped out to the cold. "I never want to see you again. I never want to talk to you, I never want to think about you, and I sure as hell never want to fuck you. That clear? Stay out of my life."

"But sweetie, I haven't seen you for years. I just _had _to say hi. Frank wouldn't let me find you, you know."

Frank. Oh God. If Matt could erase that man from his memory, he would do it in an instant. "I don't give a damn about you or Frank or anyone else. That time in my life is _over_."

"Fine then," sniffed Regina, gazing up at him with glossy eyes. It struck Matt how much taller he was now, when before, they'd been about the same height. Staring at her ugly face and remembering what they'd done made him want to hurl. And Frank…

"Have a good life, Regina. Don't ever bother me again."

He turned to leave, when with a strength that he didn't expect, Regina pulled him back and twisted him around before lunging at his lips. She tasted like tequila and smelled like dried vomit. Disgusted and finally recovering from the shock, Matt pushed her away from him so hard that she actually fell over. She barely reached a hand out in time to break her fall.

Matt didn't care. He'd never seriously wanted to beat up a woman before, but he was shaking with the effort it took to hold back from seriously fucking her up.

"Don't you ever do that again," he said. His voice trembled with a mixture of anger and fear. This woman had, along with Frank and Richard, nearly ruined his life. How dare she appear back in his world when he was finally recovering from what had happened?

"Hey, man, what the fuck are you doing?" said some guy that just came out of the bar.

Matt supposed that it looked pretty bad. After all, he had just shoved that frail-looking, conniving bitch of a woman to the ground. To a bystander who had just seen the end of what she'd done, Matt would probably look like a massive douchebag.

Regina made a pathetic whimpering sound, and the man's eyes softened before he turned to Matt with an angry expression.

"It's not cool to hurt women dude," said the man. "You need some help getting away from him, honey?"

"_Honey_!" cackled Matt, suddenly on tilt. How did he always take the blame for everything? How did he manage to become the bad guy here, and she the victim, when _she_... He turned wildly to her and laughed mockingly in her face as she tried to climb to her feet, wobbly as a baby fawn and incredibly off-balance in those hookerish high heels.

"What the fuck, man!" said the guy.

"You're lucky you have some white knight here, riding in to save you, Regina," said Matt maniacally. "You fucking cunt—"

A hard punch hit him in the jaw, and Matt barely managed to stay on his feet. "Ow, Jesus, shit—"

"You don't talk to women that way you fucker!" said the guy, hitting him again in the stomach.

Okay, enough was enough. Soon out they were full-out brawling, both intent on making the other feel as much pain as possible. Matt nailed him straight in the nose, and the guy's face started gushing blood, only to get socked hard in the cheek in return. Matt didn't even feel it. He was high on adrenaline and aware of nothing but how much he wanted to pummel someone.

In the fray of sweating and breathing and wanting to _hurt,_ he barely noticed when a familiar blond appeared, starting to pull him off.

"Matt—_Matt_, fuck, stop—"

Mello. That was Mello's voice. Finally breaking from his frenzy, Matt blinked and looked around. Somehow, without him noticing, a small crowd had gathered to watch their fight. Currently, some other "helpful" person was pulling that asshole away.

"Show's over, you can fuck off now," said Mello loudly to the throng of people. Slowly, they dispersed. Matt looked around, but Regina was nowhere to be found.

"God Matt, what the hell's gotten into you?"

Matt couldn't meet his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Mello ran a frustrated hand through his hair. How the fuck had things escalated so quickly, and _why_? When Matt left to go have a word with that dried-up, older chick, he expected that the redhead would return within a few minutes and give him an explanation. Instead, Mello had waited for what had felt like a very long time before he'd gotten up to seek Matt out.

Of course, he'd finally poked his head outside only to find his friend in a literal fistfight with some completely random dude. And now, Matt wasn't giving him any answers.

"For fuck's sake, Matt," said Mello finally. "Let's just go home, then."

He retrieved their coats, handing the heavy gray one to Matt, who grasped it and shrugged it on, still without meeting Mello's eyes.

Blood was sluggishly dripping down his face from a cut above his eye, and the right side of his face and jaw were red and swelling already.

They walked in silence back to Matt's apartment in the quiet dark. It was just past midnight now and snow was starting to fall.

"I don't fucking get you," said Mello after a good five minutes of walking. "Are you like, bipolar, or something? We were fine—having a good time—and suddenly ten minutes later you're beating up some random guy."

Matt didn't reply.

"See, I'm getting tired of being your minder, Matt. I thought I just had to make sure you didn't overdo it with alcohol or drugs, but apparently I have to watch out just in case you decide to get into spontaneous fistfights, too. Do you have _any _self control in that head of yours?"

"Leave, then," said Matt finally in a low voice. "You don't want to deal with me? I'm surprised you lasted this long."

Mello stopped short on the sidewalk, turning around. "Oh no you don't. You're not pulling out the 'nobody loves me because I'm such a fuck up' card."

"Well it's true, isn't it?" said Matt nastily.

Mello gave him a dirty look. "You're impossible. I'm not going to leave, you idiot. We're in this project together, and what's more, we're only just getting started. Not to mention that you promised to help me get revenge on James and Natasha. There is way too much to do before I could even think about breaking ties with you. Not that you don't deserve it," he added spitefully.

The rest of the walk back to the apartment passed in tense silence. Whenever Mello looked at Matt's face, all he caught was a deadened look in the redhead's eyes. It reminded Mello of the way Matt had been when they'd met in England: not completely present.

Finally, they made their way inside and up the elevator to Matt's place. Mello busied himself preparing the pull-out bed from the couch. He watched Matt out of the corner of his eye as the gamer wiped at the blood on his face and soberly pressed an icepack to his cheek. Then, he disappeared to smoke.

Minutes later, to Mello's surprise, Matt came back inside, sat down on the armchair in his family room, and faced Mello at last. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, and then said, "Mello…"

"What, so now you're ready to talk?"

"No," said Matt dryly. "But I will. You deserve that much."

Matt looked spent and tired and in pain, and there was a flash of hurt in his green eyes that was entirely separate from his physical pain.

"Why don't I tell you a story," he said, leaning back.

Mello waited as Matt seemed to grapple around with where to begin.

"It started when a stupid little kid learned that he was good with computers. After those shitty first couple of years of life with his parents, he got thrown around in the foster system, and the only thing that he ever could escape to were his electronics. Games, especially. He loved them, and loved understanding the systems that made them.

"After acing numerous tests at school, his teachers eventually had him take an IQ test, and from there he was quickly located by Quillsh Wammy. Off he went to Wammy's House, where he managed to keep grades near the top, which was impressive, considering he was attending a school of orphan geniuses. However, five years passed, and he still hadn't gotten super close to anyone because he was too busy playing games to socialize properly.

"Then, he started hacking into various systems just for the challenge of it. He'd create and spread viruses and Trojans just to watch shit happen. He'd go sit around in chatrooms and learn more nefarious ways of cracking from some pretty shady characters.

"Finally, when he was thirteen, he got an offer from a guy in America named Richard Rorley. Richard didn't care that the boy was underage; he recognized that the kid could hack better than most adults, anyway. He persuaded the boy to fabricate adoption papers—and Richard even contacted the orphanage himself—so that the boy would be allowed to drop out of the school on grounds of being adopted.

"Of course, the boy was very excited about all this. He hadn't made close friends at Wammy's House, so there was no one to miss or convince him to stay. And Richard was going to employ him—he, only thirteen!—and pay him incredibly well to do what he was already doing for fun. For the first couple of months, it was great. The kid was a little uncomfortable staying with this random man in his house, but so far all had gone to plan, and he was already making thousands of dollars."

At this point, Matt looked at the ground and his voice turned flat.

"And then… then Richard's brother, Frank, lost his place and needed somewhere to crash. He and his girlfriend, Regina, ended up moving in. And Frank… he was fucked up. Addicted to all sorts of shit and broke. He thought it would be funny to convince the kid to try stuff. Wasn't it hilarious to watch a child get high out of his mind?"

Mello swallowed, having a very bad feeling now.

"Soon, Frank discovered that the kid was earning fuck-tons of cash. Richard, at this point, was hardly ever around; he had some woman he was seeing, and he was traveling all the time, and besides, he didn't _really _care about the boy. He only contacted him whenever he had a job for him to do.

"So basically the boy was now stuck with Frank and Regina, and they realized that if they got him hooked on drugs, they could make him do all sorts of things. Give them money to pay for booze and cocaine. Buy them nice shit… clothes and phones and meals out all the time. Frank even… even…"

Mello watched, not knowing what to do, as Matt started to tremble, his hands grasping anxiously at the hem of his shirt. He was still staring pointedly at the floor.

"He would get m… the boy completely smashed, and then have him join in on some of the sick sexual stuff they liked to do. The boy hardly knew what he was doing, and in the moments when he wasn't on something, he felt terrible enough about what had happened that he would just snort something or drink or take _anything_ to forget.

"He spent nearly three years like that… before finally, Frank got jealous and paranoid that Regina liked the kid better than him, and the boy realized what sick fucks they were and decided to get out of there. He was sixteen at the time, and he managed to get along a little better after that, soon meeting his current boss, who pulled some strings to get him a place of his own in return for his hacking services. Then he upgraded to an even better apartment, one that was actually legal, when he was eighteen."

Matt tenderly touched his bruised jaw. He closed his eyes. "So here I am. Now you know."

Mello had no idea what to say. Suddenly, Matt was looking more and more to him like an amazingly levelheaded guy. Yeah, he had problems, but he was remarkably well-adjusted considering all _that_. Mello thought back to that woman, Regina, and his earlier contempt for her turned into flat-out hatred.

"Have you ever told anyone that before?" asked Mello finally.

Matt shook his head miserably.

"You're fucking amazing, Matt," said Mello in as sincere a tone as he could muster.

"Excuse me?" Matt protested, his head snapping up. "How can you say that? I was basically in a drug-induced haze for most of my teenage years, Mello, while people took advantage of me. There's nothing stupider than that, except perhaps trusting a random stranger to look out for me even though he was only interested in money. And oh hey, I did that as well!"

"I'm not saying you made a ton of good decisions," said Mello, "but no one does when they're teenagers. However, you pulled yourself out of that situation all on your own. You never had a parent or friend to help you or guide you. _You_ did it."

"I was lucky that Lewis… my boss now… took a chance on me," muttered Matt.

"Sure you were—but your abilities made it happen. It wasn't just complete chance." Mello paused. "You know the part I'm most pissed about from that whole story, though?"

"What?"

"That Wammy let you go. How the hell could he and Roger think that you were safe with that guy?"

Matt cracked a very small smile. "I made it difficult for them. Created records that said he was a friend of my mother's, that he'd been to my parents' wedding… made an email log that showed we'd been keeping in touch for years… deleted anything questionable from his criminal records, although there wasn't much... I don't blame Mr. Wammy. I was thorough."

"So why didn't you ask to come back once you realized that your life over here had gone to shit? If you'd spilled that whole story, I'm sure he would have let you."

"The funny thing, Mello, is that for a very long time I didn't think I had it bad. And by the time I realized that leaving England might have been a mistake, it was too late and I was too embarrassed to admit all of that." He shrugged.

"Well," said Mello. "I'm sorry I was harsh with you earlier. Although I still don't understand how you ended up in a fight with that dude."

"He was defending Regina. I lost it."

"Ah."

Matt still looked depressed, so Mello stepped over to him and, probably taking the redhead by surprise, drew his arms around him. He hugged him close.

Matt drew a surprised breath when Mello touched him, but as the blond held him, he let it out. Tentatively, he reached his arms up and hugged Mello back. Then, as Mello clutched him tighter, he buried his head in Mello's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time. Rubbing his back and breathing in the smoky scent of Matt's hair, Mello could hardly believe how good it felt to have the redhead this close.

"You're the best friend I've ever had, Mello," said Matt quietly. "I'm sorry for all the shit I do wrong."

"Shh," said Mello. "Dude, I'm enjoying this hug. I feel the same way, _obviously, _but don't fuck it up with apologies and sappy statements like that."

Matt started to laugh a little. The sound of it bubbled up and filled the room. Soon he was clutching Mello, grinning. "I mean it, though."

"I know, man."

They pulled apart and, after a few more things said, retired to their separate beds. As Mello turned the light off and climbed under his sheets, all he could think about was how lucky he was to have Matt's trust. More than that, he couldn't get his mind off how holding the redhead had felt. He could have so easily backed away just a bit, turned his head, and kissed him right then and there. Fantasizing about that scenario made Mello stiffen, and he pressed his face into the pillow in hopes of distracting himself from that problem.

It was terrible timing to be thinking about that, because at the same time, he knew now more than ever that he couldn't fuck up this friendship. If Matt needed a friend—and _just_ a friend—then that's what Mello would be.

…Even if it tore Mello up a little inside, to know that he couldn't have more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Only four days later, Matt and Mello finally solved a case before Near (and for that matter, before any of the world's other elite detectives). They'd narrowed down the options, reviewed recorded interviews, evaluated police records and crime scene notes, and tied the serial killings to a man who had immigrated to America from Azerbaijan a few years prior. He'd committed a series of crimes in his home country, and had even done some time for rape and assault one time when his victim managed to get away. The notes on this weren't well-documented, but Matt had been able to piece together information from various archives to tie the man's particular murder-ritual to that of the three autopsies that had been performed on women in North Carolina—plus two unsolved deaths from years ago in Azerbaijan.

Just that morning, they'd sent in their information, complete with annotations and detailed references, under the yet-unknown alias "W" to the team that was working on it. The two of them were bound to garner attention from L and Near if they kept this up.

As for Matt, he was mostly delighted to see how happy their success had made Mello. The blond was positively gleeful as he chattered to Matt all morning.

"I wish I could see the look on Near's face… and L's…" said Mello. "Granted, the actual expression on their faces won't change much, since those two are practically robots, but I just _know_ how annoyed they'll be that someone beat them at their own game. And it's all due to you, buddy."

Matt grinned abashedly. "That's not true—you did most of the actual work."

"Yes, but _you_ were able to access information faster and more thoroughly than they did, which is what made the difference. Seriously, Wammy's House had no idea what it lost when you left."

Matt smiled, feeling very pleased with himself all of the sudden. Although he hadn't done anything particularly amazing, Mello's approval made a day's work seem incredible.

Matt glanced out the window. It was snowing heavily today, but it was a calm kind of snow, not a blizzard. He rarely saw days like this in the Windy City and was suddenly struck by the urge to go outside.

"Hey Mello," Matt said. "Let's go to a park."

"Why? It's cold out there."

"Duh. But let's go play in the snow. I always wanted to when I was really little, but it rarely snowed enough in England. Then, even during the occasional snow day in Winchester, I didn't bother to spend my time outside. And when I came here… I'd kind of lost interest by that point."

Mello considered him, still looking a little mystified, but shrugged and said, "All right. Prepare to get pummeled with snowballs, then. I don't hold back, by the way."

"As long as you avoid my face," said Matt, running a hand along his cheek. "Still a bit tender."

"I make no promises."

After donning their warmest coats, the two of them headed to a large park near the shores of Lake Michigan, where there was one of the largest open spaces in the city. The sky was gray, but the city felt oddly peaceful with the blanket of clouds hanging overhead and the steady, quiet snowfall.

Matt didn't know what had prompted him to do this, but he'd been feeling extra light-hearted ever since his long and depressing confession to Mello the other night. It was such a relief that someone (besides Frank and Regina) knew what had happened and didn't think less of him. At least, Mello didn't _appear_ to think less of him; if anything, he'd been more complimentary to Matt recently.

The streets were fairly empty, save for a couple of guys on the other side of the road that seemed to be heading the same way they were. Matt caught the eye of one and smiled, wanting to spread the childish delight he was feeling at the moment, only to have the guy look away as if afraid of a stranger. Whatever. Nothing could dampen his spirits now.

Soon they were making their way across the large field. In the distance, Matt saw a mother sitting on a park bench, watching her kids make snowmen on what normally was a baseball field. The children had on bright, colorful jackets, and they were laughing and playing with a kind of innocence that made Matt's heart ache wistfully.

"Right," said Matt. "So the only way to go about this is to create our bunkers, first, and then declare war."

Mello grinned. "How much time are we allowing for preparation?"

"Twenty minutes sound good?"

"That's more than enough," said Mello cockily.

"Get to it, then!"

They staked out areas and began to create walls of snow. Matt made sure to formulate a large artillery of snowballs, which he carefully placed in a pile behind his fortification. He surreptitiously watched Mello make his own snow-barricade, and he even stopped moving for a while as he gazed at his friend. Mello's blond hair was speckled with flakes of snow, and his blue eyes stood out more than ever alongside his cheeks, pinked by the cold.

Matt could see, for a moment, why a man would want to date the blond. He had this vague feminine delicacy to his features, but at the same time he was strong and intense and smart. Embarrassed, Matt found himself getting slightly turned on by thinking of Mello like that. There was no question that Mello would be fantastic in bed. God, if Matt had thought that Lindsay was good, how much better could it be when your partner was actually intelligent, creative, and passionate? Not to mention that guys usually had higher sex-drives than girls did, so they'd be at it all the time.

Not that Matt was thinking what it would be like to bang Mello. Fuck, that sounded so incredibly wrong even in his head. Yeah, Mello was gay, but that didn't give him the right to… objectify… his friend like that. Of course, Matt rationalized, he wasn't really objectifying Mello. He was just thinking about how anyone would be lucky to have him as a boyfriend. Matt didn't know the entire story behind James's betrayal, but he hated to think that anyone would use and abuse Mello's trust like that. And Mello had even said he'd loved the guy….

That had to be rough. Matt had never loved anyone in his life, but he was starting to realize what an intense loss it would be to go through something like that. After all, he and Mello weren't even dating—they were just best friends—but Matt would be crushed if it turned out that it had been fake all along.

"Matt, what're you doing?"

Matt realized he'd been staring for an awkwardly long time. He hoped Mello wouldn't see his blush. "Just staking out the enemy, of course."

"You like what you see?" Mello teased, calling across the distance.

Matt flushed even more, but they were far enough away that it probably didn't matter. "You bet," he replied glibly.

Mello grinned at him and a smile rose in response on Matt's lips.

Matt was just about to ask Mello how many snowballs he'd already made (thinking, woefully, that his own inappropriate musings about the blond had probably put Matt far behind), when suddenly Mello got the most panicked look on his face.

"Mel…?" Matt started to ask, when Mello screamed, "_DUCK!_"

Out of pure instinct, Matt dropped to the ground; so did Mello, also rolling to the side.

And just as they did, the unmistakable blast of a gunshot went off.

"What the fuck," Matt breathed, his heart racing. Mello scrambled to his feet, sprinting out of the park so as to get out of the open and find cover. Matt did the same, not knowing what the hell was happening, but trying to weave his path like he did in video games so that their assailant would be more likely to miss. On the other side of the park, the young children were screaming, afraid.

Matt did not, however, hear another shot go off; instead, once they were back on the streets, it seemed that no one was following them. A few people who were in the area were looking around wildly, gasping and scared and running away, but no one was pursuing them… at least, not that they could see. Mello ran for a long time, finally turning a corner into a thin alleyway and waiting for Matt, who huffed and puffed behind him. Jesus—he should get in better shape. Apparently a life of playing video games and sitting in a computer chair was not conducive to long-distance running.

"Seriously…. What… the fuck," Matt repeated, panting and coughing. "What was that all about?"

Mello was breathing hard, too. His face was grim. "I saw one of the guys… they were following us earlier. I noticed them only a couple of blocks from your apartment and they came all the way out here. I was keeping an eye on them, but I thought they'd passed on because I lost track of them once we were in the field. But then… I caught sight of them from their vantage point up on top of the building next to the park, with a sniper rifle."

"Wait," said Matt. "I think I saw those guys two—the couple of dudes, maybe five or six years older than us?"

Mello nodded, swallowing and still catching his breath.

Shit. Matt had smiled at those guys. He remembered them. No wonder they'd looked away when he made eye-contact; they'd been spotted.

"Why?" Matt croaked. "Why'd they want to shoot us… kill us?"

"Not _us_," said Mello. "Me. That's who they were aiming at. I just didn't want you caught in its path, which is why I yelled to duck."

"Okay, that's hardly better—who the fuck wants to kill _you_?"

"I'll tell you this much—I've never seen those guys before in my life. Which means they were probably hired."

"Fuck, Mello, I knew you were living a bit of the criminal life over there in England, but are you saying that someone is tracking you down _all the way from the UK_?"

"Not precisely," said Mello, still looking around them nervously. "Look, let's take a bus or something. We need to get out of this area. We'll talk on the way."

Matt nodded jerkily and led the two of them to the nearest stop. He didn't take the bus often; just when he was drunk and on the way home from some bar without wanting to walk. Still, he knew the area well enough to have a sense of where to go.

"So…" said Matt, wanting answers as they power-walked, almost jogging. Mello seemed reluctant to reply. Matt spoke up again, hissing, "Seriously Mello, we just got fucking _shot at_! This is not the time to be silent and brooding!"

"Yeah, well you're a fucking hypocrite, but that's beside the point," Mello snapped. "It's more likely that someone I knew—and offended—hired a hitman that lives out here in the area. All they would have to do is supply them with information… my name, pictures of me, any information on my whereabouts… and the job would be easy."

"Your 'whereabouts' aren't particularly well known, as far as I was aware," said Matt blandly. "Did you contact someone else telling them that you're staying in Chicago now?"

"No," said Mello. His voice had a bitter tone to it. "I didn't contact any of my other friends."

Matt blinked. Somehow it hadn't registered to him that Mello would have other friends—but of course he did. Just because Matt was an anti-social freak didn't mean everyone was, and especially not someone like Mello. And then Matt had gone and basically abducted the blond, taking him to America for no particular reason other than that he could, and that Mello owed him for breaking him out of that situation. Wow. He felt like a huge douchebag when he considered things that way.

"So how the hell could they know? Unless…" Matt thought in dread, "Unless they managed to get the information out of those hired thugs who were holding you. I didn't give them a lot of info about who I was when I was dealing with them, but it might have been enough…. Fuck, I wasn't expecting to have to cover my tracks so thoroughly… shit, this is all my fault."

"Oh shut the fuck up, Matt," said Mello, disgusted. "This isn't your fault. This isn't your problem. It's mine."

"…I thought we were a team."

"Yeah, we _are_ a team—for our 'W' project and beating Near—but not for this."

"Why the hell not?"

They'd reached the bus stop, which was blissfully empty of waiting passengers, and Mello swiveled around, facing him fully now.

"Fine, you wanna know who's behind this?"

Frustrated, because that was the whole point of this conversation, Matt replied exaggeratedly, "Duhhh."

"James. James and Natasha. I've done a lot of shit, but no one targeted me until _those two fuckers_ tried to get me jailed for life and beaten the fuck up. When it didn't work out and I got away, they wanted the job done right. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Oh," said Matt, letting out a long breath. Mello was biting his lip hard, and Matt thought he could see a sheen forming over those blue eyes.

Shit. What luck. Your ex-boyfriend can't just break up with you the normal way—he has to get you arrested, beaten up, jailed, and potentially killed.

"But… _why_?"

"You don't think I'm fucking asking myself that every day of the fucking week!?" exploded Mello. "I don't know what the fuck I did wrong or why he couldn't have just told me! I'm sure Natasha is in on it, she probably convinced him, but why the hell did he believe her? Was he just putting on an _act_ the whole fucking time?"

"Whoa man," said Matt, "Calm down. The bus is coming up the street, okay? Let's just get home."

Mello shook his head. His blond hair shrouded his face from view as he stared at the ground. "I don't think you get it, Matt. I can't just go to your place and forget all about this. They've obviously got a lock on me; they were following us from near your apartment building. They _know._"

"So what are you saying?"

"I can't stay here any longer. I have to leave Chicago."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Mello raced around the apartment, packing his few belongings—mostly just the clothes he'd bought—into the same bag Matt had brought to England weeks ago. He was trying desperately not to think about what had just happened, because if he did, he might seriously break down.

Mello's breakdowns usually started out pathetic and then turned scarily violent. He hated going through that, especially when he'd probably take it out on Matt, as the innocent bystander.

The redhead in question stood at the doorway to his office, watching Mello with an inscrutable expression. The entire ride home, Matt had protested that of course Mello couldn't leave, that he'd protect him, that Mello had no place to go, that he didn't have enough resources to hide effectively, yadda yadda. He'd pulled out every trick in the book. It didn't make a difference to Mello; there was no swaying him from this decision.

Staying here would make Matt a target. It would put the other man into completely avoidable danger, and if something were to happen, it would be because of Mello's foolishness. He would not let that happen.

Between stuffing shirts and trousers into the bag, Mello glanced up at Matt, who was now turned the other way, staring with the oddest expression at his work area. He looked… upset?

"What's up with you?" Mello asked flatly, zipping up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"It's just… I'll miss them."

_Them_? Not 'I'll miss _you_?'

"I'm not in the mood for deciphering the obscure things you say right now, Matt. What the fuck do you mean, miss _them_?"

Matt's eyes, that striking light green color, met his. "My computers. My monitors… my games. I'll miss them when I come with you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. You're not coming with me."

"Yes, I am."

"No way. I don't know if you noticed, but it's likely someone's been hired to kill me. You'll only be putting yourself at risk if you stick around me."

"And if I stay here alone again, I'll go insane. Literally. Or, more likely, I'll get completely fucked up on drugs. I'll forget to eat. I'll hate waking up in the morning. Everything will go back to how it used to be, and I _can't let that happen._"

Despite everything, Mello was flattered by the confession. Matt had as good as said that Mello had changed his life in these few short weeks. He supposed it was true; the redhead had been a blank shell when they'd first met in England, compared to how he was now. Certainly, Matt had problems and still smoked way too often, but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Matt…" he said, uncertain of what to do.

"I'm coming with you, no matter what you say. You might as well accept it."

After a moment, Mello said, "Fine. Go pack some of your stuff then. We need to get out of here ASAP."

Matt hurried off to his bedroom. Mello sighed, slumping against the wall and dropping his bag on the ground. On one hand, he was thrilled that Matt was coming with him. He wouldn't be alone. On the other hand, he felt guilty that Matt had to drop his entire life just to be a tagalong to Mello's problems. Not to mention he'd be put in who-knew-how-much danger.

And fuck, with the whirlwind that was Pezox and those thugs and getting whisked off to America and dealing with Matt, Mello had hardly had a moment to digest what had happened with James. He'd trusted the man with nearly every secret he had—except his real name, of course. Mello had always kept that to himself, by force of habit more than anything. But everything else… all Mello's insecurities and his dreams and his desires… he'd shared those with James. They'd had fantastic passion in the bedroom, and Mello had been so satisfied with his life until… until…

…until James had conspired to jail and kill him, with no explanation.

It was a betrayal worse than any he'd ever faced. Far worse than L and Mr. Wammy stringing him along all those years, keeping him hopeful and thinking that he'd be picked as a successor. Yeah, fuck them—but while Mello had given up years of his life in pursuit of an unachieved goal, he _hadn't _exposed his body, his mind, and his feelings to the Wammy crew with unconditional trust. He _had_ done so with James. And he'd done it in confidence that even if their relationship ended, things would be amicable and James wouldn't be a dick about it.

Some fine judge of character he was.

"Matt, hurry up," he snapped, wanting to do anything besides linger and think. Mello wasn't good at sitting still—he needed to be up, _doing _something.

"Just give me like three more minutes," Matt's voice sounded from the other room.

Mello fidgeted and fiddled with the strap to his bag, nervously wondering where the hell he was going to go. He had no plan except to get _out of here._

"All right," said Matt, reappearing in the foyer. "I'm ready."

Mello regarded him. He had a Mario Bros. backpack on, presumably stuffed with clothes by the way it puffed out. He also held a professional-looking black briefcase in either hand, most likely containing a pair of very expensive laptops and their gear. His goggles were hanging around his neck and he had his huge green headphones situated on top of his head.

"You're such a goddamned wreck, Matt," said Mello, suddenly laughing despite himself. The whole getup was so _Matt_—one part childish gamer, two parts computer genius—and suddenly Mello felt comforted by the fact that no matter what James had done to him, this guy standing in front of him couldn't hide his nature if he tried. James had always known what to say, how to smooth-talk, what to do… Matt couldn't act or be someone other than who he was. Not to save his life.

_Hopefully that won't be necessary, then_, thought Mello darkly.

"Right… I'll just take that as a compliment, I guess," said Matt, shrugging. "So, where to, boss?"

"I don't know," said Mello, heading to the door as they spoke. He glanced out the window on his way out, which revealed a snowy December skyline. "Somewhere warm, maybe?"

"Okay," said Matt slowly. "So are we going to stay in hotels and stuff, or do you have a friend in Florida or California or something that I don't know about?"

Mello shook his head. Although L had done quite a bit of work in Los Angeles back in the day, most of Mello's friends were back in England. He probably had some people he could contact, if need be, but no one he trusted. In fact, he was finding that the list of people he trusted had grown incredibly small in recent weeks.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I vote we go to California. Silicon Valley, baby. Because fuck Florida—it's full of old people," said Matt. "And humidity," he added as an afterthought.

Mello snorted. "Probably not so much in the winter, but yeah, okay. California is fine. Just… let's get away from here."

"Yep. We're taking my Chevy, I assume?"

Mello hesitated. "If it's not too much trouble, that would be ideal, yeah."

"Pfft. It's _never_ any trouble to take a ride in my car. She's my baby, you know. 1968 Camero, but with the upgrades I've done she runs like a brand-spanking-new sports car."

"So what you're saying," said Mello, "is that it can get us out of here fast."

"Yes, _she_ can," said Matt primly, looking slightly offended that Mello had referred to the car as an "it."

The two of them hurried to the garage beneath the building and stuck their things in the boot of Matt's car—or a "trunk," as he called it… silly Americans—and then Mello hopped in the passenger's seat. Matt slid behind the wheel and soon they emerged onto the snowy streets.

Paranoid, Mello couldn't help but scan the area and keep an eye on the side mirror to make sure that no one was following them. He didn't _see_ anyone, but that was hardly conclusive.

_Calm down, Mello,_ he told himself firmly. His heart was still racing. _You're doing everything you can._

Still, he had an unsettling feeling that "everything he could do" wasn't going to be enough.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Actually, we've been lucky," said Matt, glancing at his companion. "The weather's only gotten better since we left, and these roads are freshly plowed."

"I'm telling you, I haven't seen this much snow since I left Russia," grumbled Mello.

"You're just grumpy—"

"Well, I have a right to be!" said Mello loudly. "I don't know how competent those hitmen are! They could be trailing us as we speak!"

Matt sent him a sidelong glance. "Dude, just settle down and think this through for a moment. Number one—those guys don't have a good track record. They had a relatively open shot at you, when we weren't expecting it, and they missed it. Number two—they didn't confront you somewhere private, where you could be cornered. Instead, they made it so that they couldn't tail you in broad daylight, or else they'd be caught. Number three—if what you've been saying is true, Natasha and James don't have all _that _much money to spend. I doubt they hired world-class assassins or whatnot. So just chill. While it's a good idea to get on the road and get away from my apartment, I wouldn't be overly worried about these guys. As long as we're careful, we should be fine."

"That… actually made a lot of sense."

"You sound surprised."

Mello's lip quirked. "Yes, well, I suppose you have your moments of brilliance and logic between all that idiocy and drama."

"Drama! I'm hardly dra—"

"Please. You cannot seriously deny that you have a shit ton of baggage in your past that came spilling all out over these weeks."

"Spilling out? You make it sound like I had some sort of nuclear meltdown."

Mello grinned. "Is that really so far off the mark?"

"Oh, shut up."

Matt watched surreptitiously as Mello relaxed just a bit more into his seat, and he hid a smile. Tense, angry Mello wasn't nearly as much fun as carefree, spirited Mello. Over time, he seemed to have developed a knack for improving Mello's mood… well, at least when Matt wasn't busy stressing out over his own issues.

The sun was setting over the Iowa plains as they neared the Nebraska border, and Matt, for one, was getting a bit stiff after driving for seven or so hours.

"Let's stop in Omaha," he suggested. "If I drive any more today I think I'll pass out and run us off the road."

"That's a comforting thought. Why don't you just let me take a turn, then?"

Matt clutched the wheel a little harder, possessively. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mello, it was just that he _loved_ this car. And Mello clearly wasn't used to driving in a Midwest winter, nor was he even accustomed to driving on the right side of the road.

"I'd… just rather you not," said Matt lamely.

Mello rolled his eyes, and Matt had the feeling that the blond could see right through to his motivations. Oh well.

"I'll keep any eye out for hotels then, as we near the city," said Mello.

The sky was now completely dark as they approached Omaha. Matt was itching for another smoke break, but he'd already made them stop multiple times along the way, much to Mello's annoyance. Sure, he _could_ smoke in the car, but neither Mello nor his precious Chevy deserved that.

Finally, they entered into the bustling city which seemed to spring up out of nowhere. They had been driving across snow-covered cornfields and sprawling plains for miles ever since Iowa City, and now the lights of tall buildings lit up the area. Matt felt slightly more at home; he'd become accustomed to life in downtown Chicago. Rural areas now only reminded him of his childhood back in Chesham, where he'd lived with his parents for those first few years of life. Matt didn't remember much from those years, but the recollections he did have were tainted with terror. His father, after all, had not been a nice or happy man.

Shaking those depressing thoughts out of his head, Matt drove somewhat aimlessly through the city as Mello kept an eye out for a hotel.

"Do you want something fancy?" asked Mello absently as he scanned the area. "Or will any old motel do?"

"At this point, all I want is a bed. Preferably with clean sheets, but I could make an exception if necessary. I'm not picky."

In a few minutes, Mello spotted a smallish but respectable-looking inn, and Matt gratefully pulled into its parking lot. He immediately hopped out of the car and stretched, reaching by instinct for his cigarettes. He pulled out the pack, only to find it empty.

"What!" he said in dismay. "I didn't think I used my last one."

"Deal with it. Come on, let's just go inside."

Matt frowned, annoyed, but followed Mello into the building. After chatting with the receptionist, they quickly learned that the hotel only had one-bed rooms available right now.

"I could order a cot for one of you, if you'd like," the woman said with a helpful smile.

Matt glanced at Mello challengingly. Neither of them wanted to sleep on the fucking cot, and both of them knew it.

"Well… you want to go somewhere else, then?" Mello asked him, brow raised.

"Hell no," said Matt. "I'm not driving around for another fifteen minutes. I just want sleep, now."

He turned to the woman and said, "Don't worry about a cot. We'll take a single room. Whatever. Just… quickly, please."

After paying, the receptionist handed Matt two keycards and gave them directions to their room. Wearing his Mario Bros. backpack and slinging the two laptops along, Matt made his way to the elevator, Mello trailing. When they arrived at their room, he kicked off his shoes and immediately let out an "oof" as he flopped gracelessly down onto the queen bed.

"Not the roomiest, is it," commented Mello, walking over and peering out the window.

"But there's a mattress," mumbled Matt, pressing his face into a pillow. "And sheets. I'm in heaven."

"So," said Mello, "I assume we're, uh, sharing, then?"

Matt's eyes blinked open. "Um. Yeah. I guess. Are you okay with that?"

Mello gave him a piercing look. "Well… the real question is, are _you_?"

Matt could tell where he was going with that. As accepting as he had been of his friend's gayness, it was one thing to hang out with a gay guy and another thing entirely to share a queen-size bed with him. Still, Matt didn't feel put-off at all. He trusted Mello.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Okay then," said Mello with a short nod. Matt slung an arm around his pillow and attempted to go to sleep as he heard Mello clamor around in the bathroom. Moments later, the blond emerged back into the bedroom and padded around to the other side of the bed. Matt watched through lidded eyes as Mello quickly stripped off his clothes, down to his boxers, and climbed in the other side of the bed.

Immediately, Matt pretended to be already asleep. Inside, he was burning with embarrassment and a strange, not entirely unwelcome jittery feeling in his stomach. He hadn't seen Mello shirtless since their departure from England, but he had to admit that the guy had a nice body. He was slim, with a nearly hairless chest, and Matt couldn't help but admire his lean musculature.

Although Matt himself was skinny, he wasn't nearly in as good of shape due to his relatively sedentary lifestyle. It was probably a good thing he had no appetite to speak of (over the past few years, anyway), because he'd likely be a fat, ugly blob by this point if he snacked to pass the time.

Was it weird to be thinking of his friend like this? Admiring his body? Matt considered that he wasn't necessarily admiring—he was just comparing it to his own. It was like changing in a locker room. Everyone _noticed_ how they looked compared to the others around them, but it wasn't like they were trying to check them out.

Mello shifted on the bed next to him and suddenly Matt wasn't tired at all. Every sense was on high alert. The few inches between them now felt very small. He couldn't bring himself to turn the other way; he would definitely be sleeping on his side tonight, facing away from the bed.

Minutes passed, and he couldn't get thoughts of Mello out of his mind. Oh, who was he trying to kid—he wasn't just "comparing," he genuinely thought that Mello was a good-looking guy. And Matt wasn't much in the habit of viewing men as attractive, so it was quite a compliment.

He was probably just thinking like this because he hadn't gotten laid for a while. That was it, surely. Any man would start thinking such thoughts when he hadn't fucked a girl in a month. The fact that Mello was gay was just a cruel tease, as if _inviting _Matt to think about him in a sexual way.

Stubbornly, Matt closed his eyes tightly and refused to think about the blond anymore. He convinced himself to ignore the soft breathing next to him and focus on the fact that this was a lovely pillow, and that he deserved a good sleep after driving all day.

Just before he finally drifted off, Matt belatedly realized that neither of them had even thought to pay for two separate rooms. Somehow, the idea had never occurred to them.

_Oops,_ he thought sleepily—not entirely regretting the oversight—before finally dozing off.


	23. Chapter 23

_Thank you so much for all the reviews! I really appreciate your thoughts and support. Unfortunately, my life has gotten a bit busier recently and I probably won't be able to update every day like I've been doing up until now-sorry! Still, I will continue to put out chapters as fast as I can write them. Thanks again for all of your kind words, and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Mello woke slowly, for once. Normally, he would leap out of bed the moment his eyes opened. He'd always been that way—quick to rise, energetic, ready to face the day.

Today was different. It could have been anything, from the slightly-too-stiff mattress, to the heavy duvet, to the sliver of light peeking through the thick curtains, to the steady breathing—almost loud enough to be a gentle snore—just to his right. James had always been a quiet sleeper, barely making a noise or moving at all throughout the night. Matt was clearly the opposite; when Mello cracked open an eye, he saw the sheets on the redhead's side in messy disarray. In fact, he'd kicked the comforter and blankets so that they were piled on top of Mello, instead. No wonder he was so hot under all that.

Stretching and pulling the heavy covers off, Mello slid off the bed and stood up, shivering now that he was abruptly outside of that cocoon of warmth. He grabbed his shirt from yesterday on the desk chair where he'd left it, and he pulled it on, rubbing his arms to heat them up again.

He glanced back at the bed. Matt still lay sprawled on the mattress, his arms hanging off the edge. He was still completely dressed—except for his shoes, which he'd kicked off at the entrance—and Mello felt a little naked near him with only a thin shirt and boxers on. The night before, he'd been delighted that Matt hadn't thought sleeping next to him would be too _weird_, but Mello had to admit that it had only made his infatuation worse. The few times he'd woken in the night, he'd imagined what it would be like to _be_ with the redhead and sleep like this every night.

Mello sighed, bringing a hand up to run through his long blond hair. He had to stop doing this to himself. He was getting dangerously attached. Yeah, he preferred relationships to one-night-stands, but that didn't mean he usually spent this much time mooning over someone. He was an action type of person. If he wanted something, he went after it—fuck the consequences.

With Matt, he couldn't do that. It was obvious that the redhead didn't have many (any?) friends or people who gave a damn about him. He'd become so close to Mello in recent weeks, that if Mello were to try to capitalize on that connection and get anything physical out of him, it would feel wrong… like he was taking advantage of him. Even if Matt had any bisexual tendencies—which Mello doubted—he recognized that Matt wasn't quite stable enough yet to throw himself into a relationship. Especially one with a guy.

But then there was the corner of Mello's mind that whispered that it was his birthday today, after all, and didn't he deserve a present?

_Shut up,_ he told himself. _Being born 23 years ago on this day doesn't entitle you to anything, you dumb sod._

As Mello watched, Matt shifted and sniffed. His green eyes blinked open and he pulled his face away from the pillow. When he turned and sat up, his right cheek had lines on it from creases in the pillowcase.

"M-m-morning," he yawned hugely. His mahogany hair stuck up in all directions.

"Morning, Matt," said Mello. "Ready for another day of driving across the country?"

Matt blinked blearily and winced. "You know, maybe I'll go back to sleep."

"Oh no you don't."

Matt clung stubbornly to his pillow, and Mello was forced to come over to prize it out of his grasp. Naturally, the redhead wouldn't let go, and instead he tugged so hard on the thing that Mello was knocked off balance, sending them both to the floor in a jumble.

"Ow!" whined Mello as Matt's elbow landed painfully on his hip.

Mello could feel Matt shaking atop of him. Muffled chuckles turned into full-out laughter as Matt lay on him and, this close, Mello could smell the scent of his sleepy skin and morning breath. It was such a _human_ smell that Mello closed his eyes, overcome with the desire for more, to be even closer.

When he opened his eyes just seconds later, Matt's laughter had died down, and he'd propped himself up by his hands, still facing Mello.

"Awake now?" asked Mello softly, staring up at him. The words came out in an unexpectedly challenging way, as if daring Matt to do something. The position they were in was rather compromising, after all, and Matt was sure to realize that.

Matt's eyes widened, but he didn't immediately pull away. After a few tense moments of merely staring at each other, he laughed a little awkwardly and stood up, offering a hand to pull Mello up as well. "You little minx, Mello," he said teasingly.

Mello grasped his hand and pushed himself to his feet, as Matt added, "And yes, I'm definitely awake now. And bruised, thanks to you."

"You're not the one who had someone's entire bodyweight land on you," said Mello, disgruntled. "You're heavier than you look, you know."

"Are you calling me fat?"

Mello rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're absolutely huge. Enormous." He shook his head, grinning. "Matt, if you lose any more weight, you'll start to look like L."

Matt perked up at that. "Oh yeah? So he's really skinny, then?"

"Skinny is an understatement. Last I saw, he could pass for an anorexic teenager; his stomach is practically concave. He might be a bit more filled out now, though. It's been a few years since I laid eyes on him. Weird to think that he's nearly thirty."

"Huh," said Matt. "That's never how I pictured him. I always thought he was someone who had all his shit together; someone super OCD about everything, including taking care of himself."

"Nah. He was a Wammy's House genius—none of us were quite perfect, if you recall. People have their quirks. Eating loads of pure sugar without gaining a pound is his thing. Probably the only reason he's not dead is that Mr. Wammy catered to his every need while he was out solving cases. Lucky bastard."

As he finished speaking, Mello abruptly felt the sharp sting of rejection—a feeling he thought he'd buried years ago—as it sunk in even further that he would never have that life. He remembered how wildly he was reeling after he'd graduated from the school, nowhere in particular to go, no goal to pursue. He'd gotten smashed for weeks straight, uncaring about everything, and had had more one-night-stands then than ever before. All he'd wanted to do was wallow in his own anger and denial that this had actually happened to him.

Then, of course, after that disastrous relationship with Heather, he'd met James. His whole life had turned around. As James had been fond of saying, he'd "mellowed out." He'd become engaged with the world again and content with his place in it.

Well… _fuck him_, Mello decided bitterly. He should have known that happiness never lasted long.

"You okay?" asked Matt. He looked drained tired now that he wasn't smiling anymore.

Mello blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Let's just get going. If we leave now, I bet we can make it to Salt Lake City by sundown."

Stifling a yawn, Matt pulled up a GPS on his phone and glanced at the estimated time. "That's like 13 hours away." He glanced out the hotel window. "And it looks like a storm is coming in," he added grimly.

The redhead twitchily shoved his phone into his pocket and paced around the room restlessly. Mello figured he was probably craving a cigarette pretty badly at this point, not having had one last evening.

They got dressed, and every time Matt looked out the window, his temper seemed to darken even more. With a put-upon sigh, he finally said, "Mello, this is getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? As much as I'd like to be in Silicon Valley, there's no particular reason why have to hide out there. Why the hell do we have to drive to California when we can stay in any old hotel?"

Mello shrugged. "It was _your_ idea to go to California, you idiot. I agreed because I just think we should get as far away from Chicago as possible."

The concession didn't appear to satisfy Matt, though. "Okay, _sure_. But we need to have some kind of plan for when we get there, otherwise why bother at all? God, I thought you were the thinking-ahead type of person. What the hell are we going to do long-term, huh?"

"I thought you understood," said Mello in a flat voice. "Coming with me meant not knowing about the long-term."

"There's a difference between not knowing what you'll do tomorrow and not having even a vague idea of where you'd like to end up months from now! Come _on_, Mello!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," the blond snapped. "You're just whining like a little bitch because you haven't had your cig. Don't fucking take it out on me."

"That doesn't have anything to do with this," said Matt, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, right," said Mello, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr. Addictive-personality can't get through a damn day without his nicotine. Have you even_ tried_ quitting?"

"No. I don't want to."

"That's because you're a self-destructive twat."

"You know what? Fuck you. I'm not driving you anywhere today. We're staying here, and I'm going to work on a case."

Angrily, Matt pulled a laptop out of one of his cases and jammed an Ethernet cable into the wall jack. His back was to Mello, stiff and unyielding.

"Fine," spat Mello. "I'm going out. I'll see you later, _maybe_."

Storming out of the room, Mello wandered out of the hotel and walked down the street, seething. As much as he liked Matt, he was sick and tired of him getting anxious and irritable whenever he went too long without caffeine or nicotine. He supposed the redhead might get cravings for harder drugs, too, but ever since the Valium incident he seemed to have been relatively clean.

Thinking over their conversation made Mello want to hit something. Part of the reason he was so pissed off was because he had no idea what to do. Matt had struck a chord. His only connections were in England; he was essentially alone in this country, without a real place to go. It reminded him of the turmoil after leaving Wammy's house, and he'd detested that time in his life.

_Just think, Mello._ _You can figure out what to do. Just let the answer come to you._

He wandered around the streets of Omaha, grateful for his heavy coat, because it was true—a storm was rolling in, and the wind whipped fiercely across the city. For a long time, he merely explored the area. A couple of hours later, he had finally calmed down completely after stopping in to grab a hot tea from a café. Annoyed but deflated, he started walking back toward the hotel, not particularly wanting to talk to Matt right now, but knowing he would have to.

Then something out of the ordinary happened: his cell phone started ringing. Mello stopped, sticking a hand into his pocket, brow furrowed. No one, save a couple of people who he went out for drinks with on occasion in England, had even bothered to call him ever since he came to America. He hadn't answered their calls, and he figured he would probably ignore this one—at least, until he saw the name flash on the display.

James Clayworth.

Holy fuck. James was calling him. Mello knew it probably wasn't a good idea to answer it, but he couldn't help wanting to cuss the fucker out. Before he could talk himself out of it, Mello pressed the answer button.

"What the fuck do _you_ want, cocksucker?" he spat immediately.

"Now play nice, Mello," came James's cool response.

"No. No fucking way did you just say that. You conspire to get me jailed and then send hitmen after me—don't even try to deny it; I know it was you—and you tell me to 'play _nice_?' You've gone mad. You—"

"Okay, okay, settle down," said James, in a hushed and stern tone. Mello couldn't believe the nerve of him. "Sorry about all that, but—"

"Sorry? You say _sorry?_ Hah! I can't—"

"Mello!" barked James. "Look, I just want to warn you."

"Warn me?" scoffed Mello. "Why would you even bother? You didn't warn me about any of the other shit you did. I don't need your fucking warning."

He made to click the disconnect button, only to hesitate as James's voice continued to flow swiftly out of the speaker.

"Mello, please," he heard faintly as he stared at the phone, finger lingering over the red end-call square. "Just—look out for Beyond."

Mello froze, bringing the phone slowly back to his ear. "Did… did you say Beyond?"

"Yes, yes—Beyond Birthday, B, whatever. You must know who he is, right?"

"I do," said Mello suspiciously. "…But how the hell do _you_ know about him?"

"That's not important right now. I just wanted you to know that he's out of jail and coming after you."

"What the fuck? How… and _why_? I never did a goddamn thing to him—never actually even met him, come to think of it. How do you know this? Also, why the fuck do you even care to tell me? Having second thoughts about trying to kill me?"

He heard James sigh. "Look, Mel, I never really wanted this to happen, but it's the way things are now, okay? I can't contact you again. Take care of yourself, I guess."

"James—come on, you have to give me more than that, I mean—"

"Sorry. I have to go. Don't call me again, and don't expect any more help. This was a onetime thing, okay? And… happy birthday, babe."

The phone went silent as the call disconnected, and Mello was left frozen, still holding the phone to his ear in disbelief. His mind was buzzing with so many thoughts that he couldn't make sense of them all. Slowly, he lowered himself down to sit on the frosty curb, dazedly shoving his phone back in his pocket.

_James doesn't completely hate me. At least he cared enough to warn me._

Oddly, Mello didn't feel very reassured. This was all he would have wished for in the days after his initial capture—some contact with his hopefully-regretful-ex-boyfriend—but now he simply felt numb to it all. He… appreciated… that James had bothered to warn him, but Mello found that he actually didn't feel a longing to be back with the man anymore. The realization caught him off guard.

Instead, now every time he imagined himself with someone, his fantasies had turned to Matt.

_Oh, good job Mello. Now instead of lusting after the ex who tried to kill you, you're obsessed with a completely straight guy with addiction issues. You sure know how to pick them._

But then he thought about how they had landed in a jumbled heap that very morning, and he'd seen the look in Matt's eyes as they pressed against each other. There wasn't disgust in his gaze—and there certainly wasn't a desire to separate immediately. He'd looked surprised but somewhat… interested.

Rubbing his face and shielding his eyes from the wind with a gloved hand, Mello determinedly stopped thinking about the redhead, instead forcing his mind onto more pressing matters—such as the fact that Beyond Birthday was apparently after him now.

All he knew about the man was that he'd been L's Backup—a project that had failed when Beyond began to show sociopathic symptoms and a fascination with death. Mello had read the reports; B had begun killing small animals even when he was still at Wammy's House, apparently "just for fun." He also became obsessed with L, wanting to look like him, be like him, act like him. Then, after L rejected him on the basis of being completely batshit insane, B had gone even crazier, leaving Wammy's House soon after A's suicide. There was no sign of him for years, at least until he started a string of serial killings in Los Angeles and L had been forced to solve the case. Last Mello had heard, he'd been locked up in solitary confinement.

And now he'd broken out. Probably with help. James's help? Maybe, but not his entirely willing help—at least, so it seemed.

It was most likely Natasha, Mello decided. She'd never liked him, and he could see her forcing James to go along with her… although why James would bother to obey, Mello didn't know. If he was right, then she might have helped to orchestrate his breakout in return for tracking down Mello. Those unskilled hitmen back in Chicago probably weren't reliable enough for her tastes, and she was looking for something more. Just how she and/or James knew Beyond well enough to plan all this, though… well, that wasn't something Mello could figure out at all. B wasn't the type to make casual friends.

Mello grimaced, thinking of what he would have to do with this new information. He'd have to stay on the run, but his only real hope was to outmaneuver Beyond and pray that he was as unstable and unreliable as he'd always been—because he was just as likely to kill Mello gruesomely as he was to decide that he didn't care about fulfilling his end of the deal.

Standing up, he realized that he was shivering and that the exposed skin of his face was cold in the biting wind. Mello eyed a liquor store across the street. It was incredibly tempting, he thought, to go there and buy a fifth of vodka and get utterly smashed.

_What the hell_, he decided. _Matt is upset with me, James called to tell me I'm being tracked down by a psychopath, and I'm stuck in fucking Nebraska with no place to go for the day._

Making up his mind, Mello headed into the building, more than ready to have his brain wiped real goddamn blank for the next however many hours.

A fucking happy birthday, indeed.


End file.
